π1r

Poems
on

Several Occasions.

With
Anne Boleyn
to

King Henry VIII.
An
Epistle
.

By Mrs. Elizabeth Tollet.

“Life without Love’s a Load, and Time stands still, What we refuse to him, to Death we give, And then, then only, when we Love we live.”
The Second Edition.

London:
Printed for T. Lownds, in Fleet Street.

π1v π2r

The following Poems were written
by Mrs. Elizabeth Tollet,
Daughter of George Tollet, Esq;
Commissioner of the Navy, in the
Reigns of King William and Queen
Anne
. She received a handsome Fortune
from her Father, who observing
her extraordinary Genius, gave her
so excellent an Education, that besides
great Skill in Music, and Drawing,
she spoke fluently and correctly
the Latin, Italian, and French Languages;
and well understood History,
Poetry, and the Mathematicks. These
Qualifications were dignified by an unfeigned
Piety, and the moral Virtues,
which she possessed, and practised in an π2v (ii)
an eminent Degree. The former Part
of her Life was spent in the Tower
of
London
; the latter, at Stratford
and Westham; where she was buried.
She died on 1754-02-01the first of February 1754,
aged 60.

a1r

Errata.

  • Page 5 verse 10, for “that” read what.
  • p. 9. for “propriis”
    r. patriis.
  • p. 26. v. 3. read peaceful seat”.
  • p. 29.
    v. 3 from the bot. r. fair alone.
  • p. 47. last v. for “word” r.
    world.
  • p. 65. v. 10. from the bot. r. robb’d.
  • p. 75. v.
    2. r. chosen Just.
  • p. 77. last v. instead of “asidens tenet”, r.
    asidet; et tenet, &c.
  • p. 82 v. 6. r. medium.
  • p. 83. v. 7.
    from the bot. r. celta.
  • p. 84. v. 8. r. Seres.
  • p. 92. v. 7.
    r. that I for ever.
  • p. 94. v. 7. from the bot. r. absolv’d.

  • ib. v. last r. light.
  • p. 103130. v. 4. from the bot. r. Icarus.
  • ib.
    v. 4. for “precade” r. precede.
  • v. 16 for “and” r. an.
  • p. 131.
    v. 5. from the bot. r. forests.
  • p. 151. v. 6. read,

    Between what has, and what is still to be

    .

  • p. 152. v. 7. r. Inquiries suit.
  • ib. v. 11. for silence” r. science.

  • p. 166. v. 6. r. we both surpriz’d.
  • p. 192. v. 6. r. Harvests.
  • p. 223. v. last, r. molten.
  • p. 234. v. 5. for sink”,
    r. sing.
  • p. 237. v. 8. for “my” r. a.
Books A1r

Books printed forJohn Clarke,
under the Royal Exchange, Cornhill.

III. The A1v
Poems
A2r

Poems
on
Several Occasions.

Apolloand Daphne,

INTERNAL ERROR. Please report to wwp@neu.edu that regMe is unmatched.From the First Book of
Ovid’s Metamorphosis
.

“Primus amor Phœbi Daphne Peneia—”

Thy first Belov’d was the Thessalian Fair,

O Phœbus! Not from Chance thy
am’rous Care,

But from Revenge of thy Corrival
sprung.

With thy Success, and thy Reproaches stung.

For when the God, who late the serpent slew,

Saw the young Archer bend the stubborn Yew,

A2 Fond A2v 4

“Fond Boy!” he said, “those manly Arms forbear,

Arms which are only fit for me to wear.

Th’unerring Wounds we gave the Monster show

Our Hand can never err against a Foe:

See Python, far-extended on the Plain,

Who by innumerable Wounds lies slain;

Then with thy Torch content vain Fires to light,

Forbear those Arrows, nor invade my Right.”

Then Venus’ Son: “Thy Bow may never err,

But mine shall conquer thee, the Conqueror:

As far as Brutes beneath a Pow’r Divine,

So far thy Glory shall be less than mine.”

This scarcely said, he shakes his painted Wings,

And to Parnassusshady Summit springs.

There from his Quiver’s pointed Store selects

Two diff’rent Darts, as diff’rent in Effects;

For banish’d Love with hasty Speed retires

Before the one, the other Love inspires:

That Love inspires is sharp, and Gold the Head;

The other Reed is tipp’d with blunted Lead.

Daphne with this he wounds; the other Dart

Pierc’d Phœbus’ Breast, and rankled in his Heart.

He loves; the Name of Love she, bashful, hates,

And thee, unwed Diana! imitates:

In shady Woods delights her Charms to hide,

Her Hair, neglected, in a Ribbon ty’d,

The Spoils of savage Beasts dependent at her Side.

Her many woe’d; averse from all she flies,

Impatient of a Lord, and all denies:

Free, thro’ the unfrequented Woods she goes;

What Love or Hymen are, nor cares, nor knows.

2 Her A3r 5

Her Father oft a Son-in-law desires:

Her Father Grandsons oft of her requires.

The Name of Marriage, which as Guilt she dreads,

Her lovely Face with modest Blushes spreads;

And hanging on his Neck; “O! grant, she said,

Dear Father! I may ever be a Maid:

Diana’s Father did to her consent.”

He yields indeed: But, O! that Form was meant,

Thy Virgin Wish, fair Votress! to prevent.

Apollo loves, that he desires believes;

And with his Oracles himself deceives:

As smoaky Stubble does to Ashes turn,

With Wanderer’s nightly Fires as Thickets burn;

The am’rous God consumes in secret Fires,

And feeds with barren Hopes his vain Desires.

Loose on her Neck he sees her artless Hair;

And cries, how this might be improv’d with Care?

Her Hands, her Arms expos’d to View admires,

Her Eyes, which emulate celestial Fires:

He sees her ruby Lips each other touch,

And, envious, thinks their Happiness too much.

At his Approach she flies, as swift as Wind,

The God and his Intreaties left behind.

“Stay, Nymph!” he cries, “nor fear me as a Foe;

The tim’rous Hind springs from the Lion so:

So from the Eagle flies the trembling Dove;

They from their Fate, mistaken you from Love.

Ah! thou may’st fall; or on the cruel Thorn,

And I the Cause! thy tender Limbs be torn:

The Ways are rugged whither you repair;

Ah! moderate thy Speed, attend my Pray’r,

A3 More A3v 6

More slow I’ll follow thee. Yet stay and know,

That ’tis no Mountain Swain pursues you now;

No rugged Herdsman. Ignorant you fly;

Jove is my Father, I, the World’s great Eye,

I Delphi, Tenedos, and Claros sway,

My Pow’r the Pataræan Realms obey;

And Future, Past, and Present I survey.

Harmonious Notes to flowing Verse I join:

Sure is my Dart, but one more sure than mine,

Which made those Wounds; for which no Cure I
know,

Tho’ I’m the great Physician call’d below.

To me, tho’ Medicine it’s Invention owes,

And mine is ev’ry potent Plant that grows,

Alas! no Plant a Lover’s Wound can heal;

And Arts which others aid their Master’s fail.”

More he had said, but his imperfect Pray’r

And him, she, tim’rous, leaves; the obvious Air

Waves her light Robes, and fans her flowing Hair.

Her Flight does her neglected Charms improve;

Charms that increas’d the God’s impatient Love:

No more he bears his Flatteries to lose,

But now, by Love’s Advice, her Steps pursues.

The Hare and Greyhound represent the Strife,

When he contends for Prey, and she for Life:

He seems to seize her now, untouch’d she glides,

And following Fate with double Turns avoids.

The God and Maid so in the Chace appear;

He borrowes Speed from Hope, and She from Fear:

At length the God prevails, and onward springs,

Close at her Back, for Love had lent him Wings;

Allows A4r 7

Allows no respite to the fainting Maid,

But, panting, fan’d her Hair that on her Shoulders
play’d.

She, spent with Toil, her Father’s Help implores,

And anxious looks upon his distant Shores:

“Assist, if Deities in Streams reside,”

She pray’d, “or thou, O Mother Earth! divide;

Or you, ye Pow’rs! to rescue me from Shame,

Destroy my figure whence the Danger came.”

Scarce said, her Limbs with Faintness now opprest,

The rising Bark invades her tender Breast;

To Leaves her graceful Length of Tresses grows,

And now her Arms extend to verdant Boughs:

Her Foot, of late so swift, now downward shoots,

For ever motionless in lazy Roots.

Nor could this wondr’ous Change destructive
prove

To Daphne’s Beauty or Apollo’s Love.

Beneath the Bole, still warm with vital Heat,

He felt her Heart with trembling Motion beat:

Then in the Wood embrac’d the latent Maid;

The modest Wood from his Embraces fled.

Then Phœbus, since my Bride thou can’st not be,

Yet, Laurel! thou shalt be my favo’rite Tree:

My Hair, my Quiver, and my Harp adorn;

Thou shalt by valiant Conquerors be worn,

Who mount the Capitol in solemn State,

While joyful Songs upon their Triumphs wait.

Do thou protect, on either Side the Oak,

Augustus’ Palace from the Thunder’s Stroak:

A4 And A4v 8

And as my Head is crown’d with flowing Hair,

So shall thy Leaves perpetual Verdure wear.”

He ends: The grateful Laurel this allows,

And for her Head her leavy Crown she bows,

Imitation of INTERNAL ERROR. Please report to wwp@neu.edu that regMe is unmatched.Horace, Lib. II. Ode 10.

“Rectius Vives Licini――”

Fondly, my Friend! does proud Ambition soar,

And Danger tempt with an unwearied Flight:

Fondly does Fear still keep the humble Shore,

Whom whistling Winds and beating Surges fright.

Whoever wisely keeps the golden Mean,

Nor he to smoaky Cottages retires,

Nor he in envied Palaces is seen

Too low he sinks not, nor too high aspires.

But oh! whatever’s great, whatever’s high,

The loftiest Turret, and the stoutest Oak,

The Mountain Tops, which seem to touch the Sky,

Are most obnoxious to the Thunder’s Stroak.

The Mind which Constancy for Fate prepares,

Which knows how wav’ring Fortune loves to
range;

In adverse Hopes, and in successful Fears:

For stormy Seasons oft to milder change.

Ills A5r 9

Ills cannot ever last: Apollo so

Oft mixes with the Muses tuneful Choir;

Returning from the Chace, unbends his Bow,

And with swift Fingers strikes the golden Lyre.

In adverse Chance resolv’d and bold appear;

And so thou best may’st stem the Tide of Fate:

Lower thy Sail when there’s no Danger near,

And prosp’rous Gales upon thy Voyage wait.

Claudian’s Old Man of Verona.

“Felix qui propriis ævum transegit in arvis.”

Happy the Man, whom prudent Wishes bound,

Within the streight Inclosure of his Ground.

Who, ancient, leaning on his Staff’s Support,

Reviews the grateful Scene of infant Sport:

Then, with his Mansion’s Age computes his own,

And tells the Circles whirling Years have run.

The busy World he shuns, nor loves to roam;

Nor weary makes a foreign Clime his Home.

Nor he the stormy Winds or Waves does fear,

Nor he that dreadful Sound of horrid War:

The noisy Courts are all to him unknown;

To him, who never saw the neighbouring Town.

No Change of Consuls troubles his Repose;

The Spring by Flow’rs, by Fruit he Autumn knows:

A5 The A5v 10

The Sun, whom his paternal Fences bound,

Rises and sets within his little Ground.

He does Verona and Benacus’ Lake,

For the Red Sea and distant India take.

Yet, firm in Age, a long Descent he sees,

And, chearful, visits his coæval Trees;

Others rough Seas, and foreign Countries see;

How few so long, so blest a Life as he!

Translation of Horace, Lib. I. Ode 23.

Young Chloe flies me, as a Fawn

That seeks her Mother o’er the Lawn:

Who trembles as she hears

The Wind that in the Branches plays,

The Lizards rustling in the Sprays;

And pants with thrilling Fears.

Not as the crafty Tigress prowls,

Not as the hungry Lion growls,

Do I thy Footsteps trace:

Thy tim’rous Soul then undeceive,

’Tis Time thy Mother now to leave:

A Lover gives the Chase.

Imitation A6r 11

Imitation of Horace, Lib. IV. Ode 7.

“Diffugere Nives――”

I.

The Snows are gone: Again the Ground,

Again the Trees with chearful Green are crown’d;

Again their ancient Banks decreasing Rivers bound.

The Nymphs who haunt the lofty Woods,

Or bath themselves in murm’ring Floods,

In Dances with the Graces join:

Nor do the naked Graces fear,

To tempt the Rigour of the Air.

All Nature does in this great Truth combine,

Enjoy the present Hour, for that alone is thine.

II.

The circling Seasons of the Year

A fix’d Succession know.

The Winter does to Spring give Way,

Nor long delightful Spring can stay;

And fruitful Summer does decay:

Next, bounteous Autumn does his Wealth bestow,

Last, Winter crown’d with Snow,

Returns unwelcome and severe.

The waning Moons their lessen’d Horns restore:

But Man once disappears, and comes no more.

A6 Say A6v 12

Say, could Æneas’ Piety or Pray’rs,

One Moment add to his determin’d Years?

Cou’d Strength preserve unconquer’d Tullus’ Breath?

Cou’d wealthy Ancus bribe impartial Death?

Who now in dull Obscurity is laid,

Or mould’ring Ashes, or a wand’ring Shade.

III.

To-morrow you expect in vain,

And thence wou’d future Pleasures date:

Who knows, my Friend! if there remain

To-morrow in the Stores of Fate?

What on yourself you do bestow,

You from your greedy Heir will save:

This melancholy Truth too soon you’ll know,

That not your Wit, nor noble Race,

Nor Piety, nor winning Grace,

Will e’re retrieve you from the Grave.

Nor thee, Hippolytus! Diana’s Care

Cou’d e’re restore to breath celestial Air:

And Theseus’ Strength was try’d in vain

To break Perithous’ adamantine Chain.

Imitation A7r 13

Imitation of Horace, Lib. II. Ode 3.

“Æquam memento rebus in arduis Servare mentem――”

I.

Why thus dejected? can you hope a Cure

In mourning Ills which you endure?

Without Redress you grieve:

A melancholy Thought may sour

The pleasures of the present Hour,

But never can the Past retrieve.

Who knows if more remain for Fate to give?

Unerring Death alike on all attends;

Alike our Hopes and Fears destroys:

Alike one silent Period ends

All our repining Griefs and our insulting Joys.

II.

Not thy Expence, nor thy Physicians Skill

Can guard thee from the Stroak of Fate:

Thou yield’st to some imaginary Ill

Thy very Fears of Death create.

With the fantastick Spleen oppress’d,

With Vapour’s wilder Indolence possess’d,

Thy stagnant Blood forgets to roll,

And Fate attacks thee from thy inward Soul,

Vain A7v 14

Vain is Resistance, let’s retreat

To some remote, some rural Seat;

Where on the Grass reclin’d we may

Make ev’ry Day an Holy-day:

Where all to our Delights combine,

With Friendship, Wit, and chearful Wine.

III.

Where the tall Poplar and aspiring Pine

Their hospitable Branches twine:

Among their Roots a silver Current strays,

Which wand’ring here and there, its Course delays,

And in Mæanders forms its winding Ways.

Perfumes, and Wine, and Roses bring!

The short-lived Treasures of the Spring!

While Wealth can give, or Youth can use,

While that can purchase, this excuse,

Let’s live the present Now!

’Tis all the fatal Sisters may allow.

Tho’ thou should’st purchase an immense Estate,

Tho’ the clear Mirror of the rolling Tide

Reflect thy Villa’s rising Pride,

And Forest shading either Side;

Yet must thou yield to Fate:

To these shall thy unthankful Heir succeed;

And waste the heapy Treasures of the Dead.

IV.

Nor shall it aid thee then to trace

Thy Ancestors beyond the Norman Race:

Death, the great Leveller of all Degrees,

Does on Mankind without Distinction seize.

Un- A8r 15

Undaunted Guards attend in vain

The mighty Tyrant to repel;

Nor does his Cruelty disdain

The lab’ring Hind and weary Swain,

Who in obscure Oblivion dwell.

When from the fated Urn the Lot is cast,

The Doom irrevocable past,

Still on the Brink the shiv’ring Ghosts wou’d stay:

Imperious Fate brooks no Delay;

The Steersman calls, away! away!

The Complaint of Damon.

From Virgil.

“Pastorum Musam――”

Sad Damon’s and Alphesibeus’ Muse,

At whose Complaint the Herds their Food refuse;

The spotted Pards their Song attentive hear,

And flowing Waves their wonted Course forbear:

I sing the mournful Swain, and his ill-fated Care.

The Shades of Night were scarce dispell’d by Day,

The Morning Dew still on the Herbage lay;

Against a slender Olive Damon lean’d,

And thus of Nisa’s Perjuries complain’d:

Rise, Lucifer! bring on the rosy Morn;

And hear my last Complaints for Nisa’s scorn:

Gods! A8v 16

Gods! I invoke you with my latest breath,

Tho’ vain my Pray’rs, tho’ unrevenged my Death.

Begin, my Muse! begin with me to sute

Mænalian Numbers to the breathing Flute.

Fair Mænalus has Pines and vocal Groves,

Where Eccho still repeats the Shepherds Loves:

There Pan himself, to sooth his love-sick Mind,

The idle Reeds in gradual Order join’d.

Begin――

Mopsus weds Nisa: What shall Lovers fear

When this unequal Match forbids Despair?

Now Gryphons join with Mares; and Time shall
bring

The Hound and Doe together to the Spring.

Blest Mopsus haste! the nuptial Torch prepare,

And to thy Home conduct the willing Fair.

Thy Nuts among the sportive Children throw;

Hesper for thee descends from Oeta’s Brow,

Begin――

O worthy Choice! For this with nice Disdain

Didst thou refuse the Love of ev’ry Swain?

For this didst thou my Pipe and Lamb-kins scorn,

My shaggy Eye-brows, and my Beard unshorn?

Think’st thou the Gods neglect a Lover’s Pray’r?

Or wretched Mortals plac’d beneath their Care?

Begin――

Your early Charms in youthful Bloom I found,

You came to gather Apples in our Ground:

And A9r 17

And still your Choice I to the fairest led,

Humid with pearly Dew, and streak’d with glowing
Red.

I then the thirteenth Summer did attain:

Scarce cou’d my Arms the lowest Branches gain:

Lost in my fatal Error, ah! how soon

I saw and perish’d, lov’d and was undone!

Begin――

I know thee, Love! I know thy savage Race,

Nurs’d in the Lybian Wastes, or Wilds of Thrace:

No Marks of Tenderness in thee we find,

Which might pronounce thee sprung of human-kind,

Begin――

The Rage of slighted Love thy Hands embru’d,

Inhuman Mother! in thy Infant’s Blood:

Which was more cruel? Cruel Mother thou!

More cruel Love, who taught to strike the Blow;

Begin――

The Wolf from the pursuing Lamb shall haste;

And stubborn Oaks with golden Fruit be grac’d:

The yellow Daffadil on Alders grow;

From humble Brakes transparent Amber flow.

Owls vye with Swans; and let the rudest Swain

His jarring Notes compare to Orpheus’ Strain:

Commanding Savages, like him, in Woods,

Or, like Arion, Dolphins on the Floods.

Begin――

Or A9v 18

Or let th’incroaching Sea the Land invade:

Adieu, ye Woods! and flourish green your Shade!

A Rock there is, from whose impendent Steep,

Desp’rate I’ll plunge into the foaming Deep:

Unfaithful Maid! this mournful Verse receive;

The last your dying Lover e’er shall give.

Forbear, my Muse! no longer shalt thou sute

Mænalian Numbers to the breathing Flute.

On Mr. Congreve’s Plays and Poems.

Congreve! the justest Glory of our Age!

The whole Menander of the English Stage!

Thy comic Muse, in each complete Design,

Does manly Sense and sprightly Wit combine.

And sure the Theatre was meant a School,

To lash the Vicious and expose the Fool:

The wilful Fool, whose Wit is always shown

To hit another’s Fault and miss his own,

Laughs at himself when by thy Skill exprest:

And always in his Neighbour finds the Jest.

A Fame from vulgar Characters to raise

Is ev’ry Poet’s Labour, and his Praise:

They, fearful, coast; while you forsake the Shore,

And undiscover’d Worlds of Wit explore,

Enrich the Scene with Characters unknown,

There plant your Colonies and fix your Throne.

Let A10r 19

Let Maskwell’s Treacheries, and Touchwood’s Rage,

Let rugged Ben, and Foresight’s tim’rous Age,

And Heartwell’s sullen Passion grace the Stage:

Then let Half-Criticks veil their idle Spight,

For he knows best to rail who worst can write.

Let juster Satire now employ their Pen,

To tax the Vicious on the World’s great Scene;

There the Reformer’s Praise the Poet shares,

And boldly lashes whom the Zealot spares.

Ye British Fair! Cou’d your bright Eyes refuse

A pitying Tear to grace his Tragic Muse?

Can gen’rous Osmyn sigh beneath his Chain,

Or the distress’d Almeria weep in vain?

A kindly Pity ev’ry Breast must move,

For injur’d Virtue, or for suff’ring Love.

The Nymphs adorn Pastora’s sacred Tomb;

And mourn the lov’d Amyntas’ short-liv’d Bloom:

The Learn’d admire the Poet, when he flies

To trace the Theban Swan amid the cloudless Skies.

When he translates, still faithful to the Sense,

He copies, and improves each Excellence.

Or when he teaches how the Rich and Great,

And all but deathless Wit must yield to Fate:

Or when he sings the Coursers rapid Speed;

Or Virtue’s loftier Praise, and more immortal Deed.

Each various Grace conspires t’adorn his Song;

As Horace easy, and as Pindar strong:

Pindar, who long like Oracles ador’d

In rev’rend Darkness, now to Light restor’d

Shall stamp thy current Wit, and seal thy Fame’s
Record.

An A10v 20

An Epistle.

’Tis tasteless all! I wish that I was hurl’d

by some kind Tempest to a calmer World!

To those blest Isles, in ancient Song renown’d,

Where with eternal Spring the smiling Year is
crown’d.

Where Nature’s Bounty and the wealthy Soil,

Enrich the Rustics, and excuse their Toil:

Each grateful Fruit the loaded Trees produce;

The generous Wine bestows a nobler Juice.

No Misers there amass an useless Store,

Curs’d with the Knowledge of a fatal Ore:

All there are equal, all are there content,

And all are free, for all are innocent.

Such Man was made, and had continued still,

Wou’d he have liv’d in Ignorance of Ill:

But he too soon forsook that peaceful Life,

From wicked Knowledge sprung domestick Strife,

The Wife deceives the Man, the Man upbraids
the Wife.

Hence endless Feuds and hateful Discords grow;

And still, like Streams, they widen as they flow.

Teach me, who from this odious World would run,

Where most are Wicked, or by such undone,

This Scene of Guilt and Wretchedness to shun.

Teach A11r 21

Teach you! There’s no Place free, there’s no
Retreat

Where Innocence can hope to fix her Seat.

Shou’d you, like Hermits, in a narrow Cell,

Break your short Slumbers by the midnight Bell,

By niggard Measure bound your scanted Food,

Drink the chill Waters of the icy Flood,

And for your chiefest Dainties search the Wood.

Think you that restless Thoughts you can exclude?

That anxious Care will fly your Solitude?

Methinks you tell me this; and ’tis too true:

For who can fly when following Cares pursue?

Our speedy Discontents outstrip the Mind;

What Fugitive can leave himself behind?

But I repeat what you much better know:

What the old Sabine taught so long ago.

His chearful Page consumes the Winter’s Day,

And wastes the nightly Taper’s paler Ray:

By his instructive Lines my Spleen is eas’d,

And I grow wiser as I grow more pleas’d.

For he alone those Depths of Wit could reach

Which form the Poet to delight and teach.

Ecce A11v 22

Ecce Homo. An Ode.

I.

See! how the sanguine Streams run down,

And bath his heav’nly Face with Gore:

Those sacred Streams, whose inexhausted Store

A World of Sin must drown.

With Thorns his wounded Temples crown’d,

With dropping Blood are hung around:

Those Drops which our lost Whiteness must restore.

See how, the regal Purple glows;

Vain Insult of tyrannic Pride!

See how, with nobler Purple dy’d,

His furrow’d Sides the livid Stripes disclose.

Those livid Stripes, with virtuous Smart,

A Cure for our Disease impart.

See! in his Hand, whose Fate of old

The dying partriarch to his Sons foretold,

for Juda’s Sceptre, for the awful Rod

Of high Command, an useless Bulrush nod.

II.

In vain the Romans threat, the Jews deride;

Nor know their King in his diminish’d State:

“How distant from our Hopes, they cry’d,

Is this Deliv’rer, long reserv’d by Fate?”

2 Behold A12r 23

Behold the Man! O! yet behold!

And gaze till Tears have made you blind,

Those Sorrows never to be told,

That silent Grief, that Air resign’d:

How he appeals, with up-cast Eyes,

To his great Father, and his native Skies.

In ev’ry Feature, ev’ry Line,

The Characters unalter’d shine

Of Goodness and of Love divine.

’Twas only Love Divine that cou’d sustain

This cruel agonizing Pain:

Th’ eternal Word in human Flesh array’d,

The Maker thus redeem’d whom he had made:

And for lost Man th’ inestimable Ransom pay’d.

III.

Wretch! can’st thou think on this, and yet not
feel

The thorny Wreath, the biting Steel,

Which pierc’d his Hands and Feet, and gor’d his
tender Side!

For thee he bled, for thee he dy’d:

All this for ruin’d Man he bore,

And open’d heav’nly Mercy’s boundless Store.

Can’st thou, by him redeem’d, deny

For him to bleed, for him to dy?

O thou who singly can’st for all suffice!

Our reconciling Priest! our spotless Sacrifice!

Thou, the great Father’s co-eternal Son!

Whose ever-during Being with no Time begun.

Pro- A12v 24

Propitious God! thy gracious Aid impart

To crucify this sinful Heart,

Transfix’d, like thine, with sympathizing Smart.

Forbid it, Lord! that I untouch’d should be

With Suff’rings from myself transferr’d on Thee.

IV.

And what, alas! can I bestow?

My Eyes! bid all your Fountains flow!

Too mean, alas! the watry Show’r!

My Veins! your purple Torrents pour:

Unequal all to what I owe!

No! tho’ in gushing Tears dissolve my Brain,

And Life, exhaused, ebb at every Vein,

Nor cou’d the gushing Tears prevail,

That Inundation of my Eye!

Nor what my bleeding Veins supply,

To wash away the guilty Dye:

The Ocean there itself wou’d fail.

Tho’ mine is all the Guilt and thine the Pain,

Thy sacred Blood alone can purify the Stain.

To a young Lady.

As Persians on the gleamy Skies

Gaze, and adore the Sun’s Uprise;

So we on young Panthea’s Eyes.

A B1r 25

A blooming Beauty’s Morning Ray

Did ne’er presage a fairer Day:

As bright as June, as fresh as May.

But as parch’d Eastern Shepherds run

Beneath refreshing Shades, to shun

the Fervors of the Mid-day Sun:

Our Youth shou’d fly the fatal Sight:

Those Eyes, intolerably bright,

Dart scorching Fires, and dazzling Light.

To my Brother at St. John’s College in
Cambridge.

Blest be the Man, who first the Method found

In Absence to discourse, and paint a Sound!

This Praise old Greece to Tyrian Cadmus gives;

And still the Author by th’Invention lives:

Still may he live, and justly famous be,

Whose Art assists me to converse with thee!

All Day I pensive sit, but not alone;

And have the best Companions when I’ve none:

I read great Tully’s Page, and wond’ring find

The heav’nly Doctrine of th’immortal Mind;

An Axiom first by Parent Nature taught,

An inborn Truth, which proves itself by Thought.

But when the Sun declines the Task I change,

And round the Walls and antick Turrets range;

From hence a vary’d Scene delights the Eyes,

See! here Augusta’s massive Temples rise,

There Meads extend, and Hills support the Skies;

B See! B1v 26

See! there the Ships, an anchor’d Forest ride,

And either India’s Wealth enrich the Tide.

Thrice happy you, in Learning’s other Seat!

No noisy Guards disturb your blest Retreat:

Where, to your Cell retire’d, you know to choose

The wisest Author, or the sweetest Muse.

Let useful Toil employ the busy Light,

And steal a restless Portion from the Night;

With Thirst of Knowledge wake before the Day,

Prevent the Sun, and chide his tardy Ray:

When chearful Larks their early Anthem sing,

And op’ning Winds refreshing Odours bring;

When from the Hills you see the Morning rise,

As fresh as Lansdown’s Cheeks, and bright as
Windham’s Eyes.

But when you leave your Books, as all must find

Some Ease requir’d t’indulge the lab’ring Mind;

With such Companions mix, such Friendships make,

As not to choose what you must soon forsake:

Mark well thy Choice; let Modesty, and Truth,

And constant Industry adorn the Youth.

In Books good Subjects for Discourse are found;

Such be thy Talk when friendly Tea goes round:

Mirth more than Wine the drooping Spirits chears,

Revives our Hopes, and dissipates our Fears;

From Circe’s Cup, immeasur’d Wine, refrain,

Start backward, and reject th’ untasted Bane.

Perhaps to neighb’ring Shades you now repair,

To look abroad and taste the scented Air:

Survey B2r 27

Survey the useful Labours of the Swain,

The tedded Grass, and Sheaves of ripen’d Grain;

The loaded Trees with blushing Apples grac’d,

Or hardy Pears, which scorn the wintry Blast,

Or see the sturdy Hinds from Harvest come,

To waste the setting Suns in rural Mirth at Home.

Now on the Banks of silver Cam you stray;

While thro’ the twisted Boughs the Sun-Beams
play,

And the clear Stream reflects the trembling Ray.

Think, when you tread the venerable Shade,

Here Cowley sung, and tuneful Prior play’d.

O! would the Muse thy youthful Breast inspire

With charming Raptures and Poetick Fire!

Then thou might’st sing, (who better claims thy
Lays?)

A tributary Strain to Oxford’s Praise:

Thy humble Verse from him shall Fame derive,

And grac’d with Harley’s Name for ever live.

First sing the Man in constant Temper sound,

Unmov’d when Fortune smil’d, undaunted when
she frown’d.

A Mind above Rewards, serenely great,

And equal to the Province of the State:

Thence let thy Muse to private Life descend,

Nor in the Patriot’s Labours lose the Friend.

CB2 Written B2v 28

Written in a Book of Novels.

Methinks that reading these Romances

Is just like dancing Country Dances:

All in the same dull Measures move,

Adventures brave and constant Love;

Each Pair in formal Order tread

The Steps their Predecessor led.

To a Gentleman in Love.

Say, in what gentle Sounds, what healing Strain,

The friendly Muse shall sooth the wounded
Swain?

Thy self, the Muses Servant, best may know

To mourn in moving Verse the latent Woe:

Such Verse where Fear and humble Passion speak,

Where crowding Thoughts in soft Confusion break,

With fal’tring Eloquence the Fair might move,

Tho’ cold as Northern Snows to mutual Love.

Tho’ that perhaps thou hast in vain essay’d:

The Muse, at best, is but a faithless Aid;

So Princes by Auxiliars are betray’d.

Lonely thou wander’st where the sounding Stones

Of Balliol’s Walls return thy hollow Groans;

Or B3r 29

Or where Severus’ Work describes the Bound

Of Roman Conquests on the British Ground.

The ruin’d Pile stood threatning o’er the Waste;

Prodigious Monument of Greatness past!

Hither perhaps the pensive Lover goes,

To shun his chearful Friends, and speak his Woes.

How art thou chang’d? Thou! who wert always
known,

With modest Wit our temp’rate Mirth to crown.

What? Cannot Politicks, and deep Debate

What menaces the Church, or shakes the State,

What great Eugenius clouds the waning Moon,

What Spain intends, or they who drink the Rhone,

From thy unquiet Breast these Cares remove?

This ’tis, unhappy Youth! to be in Love.

Or when thy jocund Friends the Board surround,

With rural Stores and native Liquors crown’d,

Such as the British Swains, industrious, dram,

From blushing Apples, or the bearded Grain;

The love-sick Youth discovers his Surprize,

By faded Cheeks and unregarding Eyes:

By rising Sighs which heave his struggling Breast,

And wand’ring Speech with sudden Pause supprest,

All smile; and some with friendly Anger chide,

Some pity thy Distress, but most deride:

While you sit by, with careless Head reclin’d;

The only Fair employs your absent Mind.

We by your Doctrines my perhaps improve

For we, alas! are Hereticks in Love:

B3 We B3v 30

We may with Vows of Constancy make bold;

But you de Jure love――to have and hold.

“Amantem languor & silentium Arguit, & latere Petitus imo spiritus.”
Hor. Epod.

To Mrs. Elizabeth Blackler, playing on
the Harpsichord.

Ode.

I.

While our charm’d Eyes with Wonder
gaze

On her, whose Beauty is her meanest Praise,

What sudden Harmony of Sound!

Descending Heav’n is all around!

Some unseen Pow’r! it can be only such,

No mortal Touch

Can with such Rapture strike the Mind:

Such heav’nly Awe with Pleasure join’d.

See! every Faculty with Transport fill’d:

The active Blood forgets its Course,

Flows back, and trembles at its Source;

And ev’ry heaving Pulse is still’d.

See! ev’ry Sense in sweet Oblivion lye;

And Thought admits a Pause in Ecstasy.

II. B4r 31

II.

See! how the trembling Strings her Hand obey:

’Tis she! ’tis she who deals around

The magick Properties of Sound;

The vary’d Passions own her powr’ful Sway.

Corroding Grief! and gloomy Care!

Black Melancholy! wild Despair!

Far from this chearful Scene be gone,

Back to your dismal, hateful Cell;

There fix your arbitrary Throne,

Where Darkness and Confusion dwell.

Before the Pow’r of Harmony

The vanquish’d Dæmons wing their Flight,

To spacious Realms of genuine Night:

There plunge their sullen Heads and murm’ring lye.

While new-born Joys around impart

A quicker Pulse to ev’ry Heart;

And bid the busy Spirits flow,

Diffusing Life and Gladness as they go:

When sprightly Measures break the Trance,

And Motion now renews her interrupted Dance.

III.

What Praise is thine, harmonious Maid?

What Thanks for all thy Wonders shall be pay’d?

Yet what the Sister-Art can give

Disdain not, Fairest! to receive:

The Sister-Art can save from Death

The Pow’r of skilful Hands and tuneful Breath.

B4 For- B4v 32

Forbear, ambitious Muse! forbear;

Nor with rude Transport interrupt her Strain:

She strikes the vocal Strings again,

And Praise itself becomes Detraction here.

See! the Musicians of the Sky

Descending fill the shining Air;

And see! they hover o’er the Fair,

And hang, with silent Rapture on her Harmony.

Her Harmony, which well may show

To all above, as well as all below,

That what was Art before is Inspiration now.

On an unknown generous Person.

’Tis Virtue to the highest Pitch to raise,

At once to merit, and decline the Praise:

While conscious inward Joy and deep Delight

Approve the Doer, and the Deed requite.

Tho’ modest Worth its own Desert may wrong.

Yet ev’n from Silence he demands a Tongue,

Who like dispensing Providence bestows:

The Good confers, concealing the Dispose:

So oft descending Pow’rs, in Mists array’d,

Veil’d the bright Glory with impervious Shade.

Written B5r 33

Written by Lady Jane Grey, when Prisoner
in the Tower, with her Pin on her Chamber
Wall.

“Non aliena putes homini quæ obtingere possunt; Sors hodierna mihi, cras erti illa tibi.”

English’d.

Let no Distress be foreign to your Mind

That may but possibly befall Mankind:

My Lot To-day, To-morrow you may find.

The Portrait.

“Votiva pateat veluti descripta tabellâ Vita――――” Hor.Horace

On what wou’d I my Wishes fix?

’Tis not upon a Coach and Six:

’Tis not your rich Brocades to wear;

’Tis not on Brilliants in my Ear.

’Tis not to hurry up and down

To Tunbridge, Epsom, Kensington;

Much less to rub my wakeful Eyes

At Basset, till the Sun shou’d rise:

Had I a Foe I meant to curse,

Nay, Rival, I’d not wish her worse.

For once, to tell you what’s the Lot

I like, I’ve told you what ’tis not;

B5 A B5v 34

A lazy Life I first wou’d choose,

A lazy Life best suits the Muse:

A few choice Books of ev’ry Sort;

But none that meddle with the Court,

Small Thoughts for Cloaths; ’tis all a Case:

They’ll neither mend nor spoil my Face.

Money! Enough to serve my Ends:

An Hackney to go see my Friends;

That I may laugh if Fops pass by,

And they not know my Livery.

Friends that in any Dress would come;

To whom I’d always be at home:

My Table still shou’d cover’d be,

On this Side Books, on that Bohea;

While we sip on, and ne’er debate

Matters of Scandal, or of State.

For Horace tells us, as you know,

’Tis sweet to fool it a propos.

“Dulce est desipere in loco.” Hor.Horace

On a Lady of Quality, saying Spenser
wrote broad Scotch.

Thee, Spenser, emulous of Homer’s Fame,

With jealous Pride the rival Nations claim:

Thy Residence Ierne’s wintry Isle,

England thy Birth, and Scotia claims thy Stile.

Bucha- B6r 35

Buchananus ad Neæram.

“Illa mihi toties præsenti dura Neæra, Me, quoties absum, semper abesse dolet: Non desiderio nostri, non mæret amore, Sed se non nostro posse dolore frui.”

Imitated.

Tho’ present I can only move

Relentless Hate, or rig’rous Scorn,

The Fair, insensible to Love,

Does kindly for my Absence mourn.

Does Pity come to my Relief?

Is Love triumphant o’er Disdain?

No! ’tis to her the Cause of Grief

That she no more enjoys my Pain.

Pastoral.

In Memory of Mrs. Elizabeth
Blackler
, 17171717.

Mourn, Shepherds! mourn the fair Eliza
dead,

And all that’s sweet and lovely with her fled:

Ye Streams! ye Banks! ye Plains their Sighs restore,

And join to mourn Eliza now no more.

B6 For B6v 36

For her the Heav’ns were fill’d with dire Presage,

Of battling Winds, and dreadful Thunder’s Rage:

Descending Rills increas’d the troubled Floods,

And the Serene grew black with bellying Clouds;

From their riv’n Sides the wavy Lightning broke,

Blaz’d all around, nor spar’d the sacred Oak.

Impetuous Rains and rising Torrents spoil

The delug’d Fields, and mock the Reapers Toil:

The Hinds, with wild Affrights, run trembling
home,

Thro’ the redoubled Horrors of the Gloom.

How oft the tim’rous Nymphs with female Cries

Invok’d the Pow’rs? How oft with streaming Eyes?

But what had they for Innocence to fear,

Or think the frowning Heav’ns should menace her?

And now with unvailing Sighs they mourn,

And watch the lov’d Eliza’s sacred Urn:

Weeping they sit upon the faded Moss,

And tell the sad Presages of their Loss.

Ye Streams! ye Banks! ye Plains! their Sighs restore;

And join to mourn Eliza now no more.

Unpitying Fate! they cry, cou’d none be found

But her, so lovely, so belov’d, to wound?

In whom all Sweetness at once combin’d,

To grace her Person, and adorn her Mind.

Must we no more survey her heav’nly Face?

No more with mixt Delight and Wonder gaze?

Must we no more the setting Suns prolong,

Charm’d with her artful Notes and tuneful Song?

No B7r 37

No more her beautous Form shall bless our Sight;

Clos’d are those Eyes, and sleep in endless Night:

Those Hands are motionless, that Voice is mute;

And silence best does with our Sorrow suit.

Cease then, ye Nymphs! your loud Complaints,
and show

The dumb majestic Pomp of speechless Woe!

Let stealing Sighs alone her Fate deplore:

Ye Streams! ye Banks! ye Plains! our Sighs restore;

And join to mourn Eliza now no more.

See! all around contagious Sorrow spreads;

The drooping Flow’rs decline upon their Beds.

See! how the Rose, with wasting Grief decay’d,

Drops all her tender Leaves, and hastes to fade;

See! how the Lilies shed their Virgin Bloom,

And only live to dress Eliza’s Tomb.

Yet those by Winter pinch’d, or charg’d with Rain,

Renew their Beings, and revive again:

Why then must Life, frail Nature’s noblest Boast,

For once expiring be for ever lost?

For her, the Woods afford a trembling Sound;

For her, sad Eccho answers from the Ground;

For her, the Wind in hollow Accents roars;

For her, the Currents murmur on their Shores.

The Streams, the Banks, the Plains, our Sighs restore;

And joint to mourn Eliza now no more.

Sad Philomel, forgetful of her Wrong,

For lost Eliza tunes her mournful Song:

For B7v 38

For her the Linnet and the sighing Dove

With soft complaining fill the vocal Grove.

For chearful Notes, a plaintive Air they sing;

And droop the Head, and hang the heavy Wing:

All wild they range amid the lonely Wood;

Thoughtless of Love; and careless of their Food.

Ye Groves! ye Bow’rs! ye Grots! their Sighs restore;

And join to mourn Eliza now no more.

See! how the Shepherds, struck with deep Despair,

Stand stupid, and neglect their fleecy Care:

To her no more they now shall sing and play,

But sigh, and throw their broken Reeds away.

The pining Flocks attend their Master’s Moan,

And with soft bleating answer Groan for Groan:

Pensive they stray, and scorn the full Repast;

Nor thirsty, deign the crystal Streams to taste.

Ye Hills! ye Dales! ye Lawns! the Sight restore;

And join to mourn Eliza now no more.

Mourn, all ye healing Springs! wheree’er you
glide:

Mourn, all ye Nymphs; who o’er these Springs preside;

And ye, delightfull Groves! which us’d to shade

The silver Fountain, wither now, and fade.

No more the Fair your flow’ry Side shall press;

No more the Fair shall haunt your sweet Recess:

No more amid the beauteous Train advance,

And, all excelling, lead the graceful Dance.

No B8r 39

No longer here shall Joy and Pleasure dwell,

But streaming Tears the troubled Currents swell:

The Springs, the Meads, the Shades, our Sighs restore;

And join to mourn Eliza now no more.

Let all the Sons of Music join, to show

The mingled Pow’rs of Harmony and Woe:

Such as of old when Thracian Orpheus try’d

The Fates relented, and restor’d the Bride.

Begin! your Art may speak your deep Despair;

But never, never can redeem the Fair.

Let harsh, discordant Strings a Sense impart

Of sharpest Grief, and thrill the wounded Heart.

In distant Sounds the dying Notes prolong;

And with sad Pauses interrupt the Song

Ye Streams! ye Banks! ye Plains! the Sounds restore;

And join to mourn Eliza now no more.

Ye hateful Tow’rs! where lov’d Eliza fell;

Who all your savage Cruelties can tell?

How oft have you conceal’d the horrid Scene

Of Death and Murther, in your guilty Den?

Did we to you, to you entrust the Fair?

Thus do you guard, and thus restore your Care?

Relentless you your Charge will ever keep,

Where rival Queens Mrs. B. was buried near Henry VIIIths Wives, and, as is
ssupposed near Lady Jane Grey.
and beauteous Dudley sleep.

There rest alike the Guilty and the Just,

While only Virtue triumphs in the Dust.

This B8v 40

This Crime with late, repentent Grief atone;

Let living Sorrow touch the senseless Stone;

Thou, The white Tower. Julian Mole! our hollow Sighs restore.

And join to mourn Eliza now no more.

The Muse alone this Privilege can claim,

Among the Stars to fix a deathless Name:

She rais’d of old to those divine Abodes

Whom Arts or Virtues equal’d with the Gods.

She can afar descry, with piercing Eyes,

Eliza, gliding thro’ the open Skies:

Point out the radiant Stream that gilds her Way;

And lambent Glories which around her play.

And you, to whom your bounteous Stars impart

The Love of sacred Lays and Phœbus’ Art!

With rev’rend Awe attend; and listen well

To what the Priestess of the Muse shall tell.

When on that Day, most gladsom of the Year,

On which Cæcilia marks the Calendar,

With emulating Skill the Saint you grace,

Let lov’d Eliza hold the second Place:

So shall her Fame Life’s hasty Date prolong,

In spight of Death’s fell Rage, and Time’s injurious
Wrong,

And ever flourish, ever live, in never-dying Song.

Mary B9r 41

Mary, Queen of Scots, Farewel to Buxton.

“Buxtona, quæ calidis celebrabere nomine lymphis, Forte mihi posthac non adeunda, vale.”

On the foregoing Lines.

Buxton! whose healing Spring, salubrious
Flood,

The royal Mother of the Scottish Blood

Deign’d celebrate in Verse, to be her Theme

Shall make thee rival Aganippe’s Stream.

My own Epitaph.

Falsly this wounded Stone pretends to show

The Inmate of the silent Cell below;

’Tis not that Being, rational, combin’d

Of finer Clay, and the celestial Mind,

But mould’ring Dust to its first Bed resign’d.

Thou sacred, plastic Pow’r! whose Book contains

Our number’d Fibres, our minutest Veins!

These Atoms, in successive Changes tost,

Thro’ ev’ry Element dispers’d and lost,

Again from ev’ry Element shall come,

When thy dread Summons calls them from the
Tomb;

Again the pristine Structure shall complete,

And wait their Doom at thy decisive Seat.

Then B9v 42

Then grant these mortal Optics firmer Ray

May thee, the Source of Light immense! survey,

Complete thy chosen Blest, and this Desire

Which holy Hope and stedfast Faith inspire,

To join my Voice to thy immortal Choir.

Pastoral. On a rural Amour.

Tell me, O! tell me, why with cold Disdain

You scorn the Passion of an artless Swain?

Why now with haughty Charms and conscious
Pride,

You frown severe, and turn your Head aside?

Perhaps my Form and Courtship rude are thought;

Love is not unsincere because unsought.

Far from you Town, and distant from Resort,

In Woods has been my Business and my Sport:

Yet Love, if pleasing Tales may be believ’d

From antient Bards to list’ning Youth deriv’d,

Has in the shady Forest’s dark Retreat

Compos’d his Bow’r, and fix’d his rural Seat.

They say the Mother and the Queen of Love

Forsook the starry Skies, and chose to rove,

And trace a fav’rite Shepherd thro’ the Grove.

And some good Gentry in our Town, ’tis said,

Have met their Lovers in the neighb’ring Glade:

Not that I close Intrigues to Light would bring,

But you perhaps have heard of such a Thing:

By B10r 43

By these Examples warn’d, fair Maid! remove

That Pride that is the Obstacle of Love.

This Form, the Object you so much despise,

Our Country Maids beheld with other Eyes:

With envious Care and rival Art they strove

Who first should gain, and longest keep my Love.

I lov’d, or though I lov’d; what Youth could
choose?

So fairly proffer’d, how could I refuse?

But then no Pain, no anxious Care I knew;

That future Triumph was reserv’d for you.

You may remember, I remember well,

And still my Thoughts on that lov’d Image dwell,

’Twas when the Earth had welcom’d jolly May,

Beneath an Oak upon the Sands I lay,

And with my Hook deceiv’d the finny Prey.

Careless I lay, for then my only Care

Was o’re the Lawns to course the tim’rous Hare:

Or to disperse the missive Deaths in Air.

With youthful Pride and vain Delight I knew,

How my strong Arm could bend the stubborn Yew;

But when you came, I to my Grief confest

A surer Marksman that had pierc’d my Breast.

You came, and chose that Oak for your Retreat,

Where I was shelter’d from the Noon-tyde Heat:

Your shining Hat was with a Ribbon ty’d,

And but adorn’d the Charms it seem’d to hide,

With modest Gaiety and decent Pride.

You sate, and on my sportive Labours smil’d:

While I the Fish, the Fisher you beguil’d:

’Twas from that fatal Day the Source arose

Of all my Griefs, the Date of all my Woes;

I’l B10v 44

I’ll call it so, unless you should relent,

And prove it blest and happy by th’Event

How oft, at your Approach, my faded Cheek

Betray’d the Passion which I durst not speak?

Aw’d by your Eyes, how oft my Accents hung

And dy’d imperfect on my falt’ring Tongue?

By Day, the woodland Solitudes I sought,

To hide my Passion, and indulge my Thought:

By Night, upon the Ground my Limbs I spread,

And on the mossy roots repos’d my Head.

My alter’d Eyes roll’d wild with gloomy Care;

And Doubt increasing ended in Despair:

My love-sick Heart no longer cou’d maintain

Its vital Functions, or support its Pain.

’Twas then you came, by kind Compassion mov’d,

With Looks which bid me hope to be belov’d.

Why are you chang’d? while I am still the same,

While Life shall feed the inexausted Flame:

While your dear Image in my tortur’d Breast,

Disturbs my haunted Dreams and broken Rest;

I madly from pursuing Love would run,

And bear about the Torments which I shun,

So strive the feather’d Tribes in vain to fly

The Fowler’s certain Arm and constant Eye:

While on extended Pennons they forsake

The shelt’ring Thicket, or the sedgy Lake,

Dang’rous their Flight, nor less unsafe their Stay,

Fate, swifter-winged, o’ertakes their mounting Way.

Ari- B11r 45

Ariette.

Set by Mr. Thomas Roseingrave.

Hark, Lucinda! to the wooing,

Murm’ring Turtles am’rous cooing,

Shelly Grotts their Loves rebound:

Streams along the Pebles trilling,

Hearts with trembling Pleasure filling,

Sweetly answer to the Sound.

Twisted Boughs above combining.

Loving Joy around them twining,

Guard thee with a mingled Shade:

Purple Vi’lets, blushing Roses,

Od’rous Flow’rs in various Posies,

Dress thy Bosom and thy Head.

See! their tender Beings flying!

Quickly fading, quickly dying!

Beauty ne’er was fram’d to last:

Let the Lover once advise thee,

To improve the Good that flies thee;

Soon, ah! soon the Season’s past.

Air with hollow Tempests swelling,

Gathering Clouds a Storm foretelling,

2 Shrowd B11v 46

Shrowd in Night the fairest Day:

Springing Beauty, gayly blooming,

Sees not lowry Winter’s coming,

To December change her May.

On Lisetta.

Lisetta, full of coquette Airs,

For fluttering Coxcombs lays her Snares:

But, view that glossy white and red,

That Birdline is too coarsely spread.

On loving once and loving often.

Once loving is a gen’ral Fashion,

To Nature ’tis a Tribute paid:

But, loving often shews that Passion

Despises Reason’s feeble Aid.

Against Chance and Fate.

’Tis not wild Chance, or arbitrary Fate,

Fond Man! that guides thy fluctuating State:

Poor Reason yields in vain her feeble Aid,

Alike by each fantastick Scheme betray’d.

Cou’d B12r 47

Cou’d wand’ring Atoms, in their casual Fall,

Compose the Fabric of this wond’rous Ball:

Are Modes of Matter capable of Thought,

With Act reflex, and clear Ideas fraught?

Then well may Chance in endless Mazes run,

And rule the System which it first begun.

But see! the Earth with useful Plenty bless’d,

The Plants of vegetable Life possess’d;

Observe by Beasts, in ev’ry Species, shown

A dubious Reason which we blush to own:

Then thou, whose boasted Power can all controul,

Consult the native Dictates of thy Soul;

And if thou there discern the Maker’s Hand,

Confess his care, resign to his Command,

Others, as vain, to human Acts apply

A fatal Series and Necessity:

And think that Choice, which we imagine free,

Was predetermin’d by severe Decree.

Why then must Man, of Liberty debarr’d.

Or suffer Punishment, or meet Reward?

Whence springs the Difference of Good and Ill,

Our Deed constrain’d, and over-rul’d our Will?

Must we the Guilt of fancy’d Freedom bear?

Why is our blinded Reason forc’d to err?

Does this consist with Rules by Justice taught,

That Pow’r shou’d punish which compell’d the
Fault?

Thus vainly in the jangling Schools engage

Fond Epicurus and the Cyprian Zeno. Sage:

’Till Heav’n the interposing Curtain draws,

A Word created, and superior Cause

2 Now B12v 48

Now stand reveal’d; and is his Works is shown,

Who long was sought in vain, a God unknown.

From whence this consequential System flows,

The whole sbsisting by his sole Dispose:

That his eternal Wisdom does dispense

The various Bounties of his Providence.

To thee, O Man! a reas’ning Soul is giv’n,

Form’d to be happy, capable of Heav’n;

Thy Act is free, and unconstrain’d thy Will,

In Good instructed, and forewarn’d of Ill:

And hence that Punishment, deserv’d and due,

To those who know the Good, the Worst pursue.

Perplex’d and weary’d in the tedious Chace,

Reason thus far a Providence may trace:

Here she must rest; nor can her dazzled Sight

Pierce the bright Regions of eternal Light.

How does it mock her Labour to explain

How we from Adam’s Crime derive a Stain?

How can her Force a proper Victim show

Our Guilt to expiate, and avert our Woe?

How in one Person, tho’ not mix’d, are join’d

The human Nature and eternal Mind?

How he who was e’re Time in Time had Birth,

Uncircumscrib’d by Heav’n inhabits Earth?

Whose sacred Blood, by impious Fury spilt,

Man’s greatest Crime, atones Man’s greatest Guilt.

Canst thou, who hast with Subtilty defin’d

The closest Operations of the Mind,

Canst thou, I say, with like Discernment trace

Th’effective Influence of celestial Grace?

Can’st thou distinguish, with acutest Skill,

How the bless’d Spirit leads thy proper Will?

Then, C1r 49

Then, feeble Reason! thy Pursuit must cease:

Implore the God of Knowledge, Truth and Peace,

To teach that Rebel Folly we call Wit,

That ’tis her noblest Conquest to submit.

Vain Man, whom Pride and Obstinacy sway,

Persists disputing when he should obey;

To Terms of Honour giv’n he scorns to yield;

And strives, tho’ vanquish’d, to maintain the Field.

Here end thy Search; and fix thy lasting Trust

On the most wise, most pow’rful, and most just.

In Memory of the Countess of Winchelsea.

EfDefugiunt avidos carmina sola rogos.” Ovid.

Sad Cypress and the Muses Tree

Shall shade Ardelia’s sacred Urn:

These with her Fame and Fate agree,

And ever live, and ever mourn.

While ev’ry Muse with vocal Breath

In moving Strains recites her Praise:

And there assumes the Cypress Wreath,

And on her Tomb resigns the Bays.

What Pow’r shall aid the Virgin Choir

To make her Worth and Virtue known?

Who shall the Sculptor’s Art inspire

To write them on the lasting Stone?

C The C1v 50

The honour’d Streams of antient Blood,

And Titles, are by Fortune giv’n:

But to be virtuous, wise, and good,

Derives a kindred Claim from Heav’n.

Virtue, and Wit in Courts admir’d,

The shining Pattern shall diffuse:

Nor, tho’ to private Life retir’d,

Are lost, but flourish with her Muse.

Of those the Sister Nine shall sing,

Yet with their Voice their Verse shall pass:

And Time shall sure Destruction bring

To wounded Stone, or molten Brass.

Tho’ Titles grace the stately Tomb,

Vain Monument of mortal Pride!

The Ruins of the mould’ring Dome

Its undistinguish’d Heap shall hide.

Wit, which outlasts the firmest Stone,

Shall, Phœnix-like, its life prolong;

No Verse can speak her but her own,

The Spleen must be her fun’ral Song.

To C2r 51

To a Lady lending me Heliodorus just before
her Marriage.

See! Love, by scornful Nymphs esteem’d a
Fault,

Here by a venerable Prelate taught:

The good old Man, with rigid Zeal at Strife,

Devoutly preaches up a marry’d Life.

At this th’assembled Synod loud exclaims,

And dooms the am’rous Fiction to the Flames:

But he, such wond’rous Prevalence obtains

The fondling Offspring of an Author’s Brains!

With mild Composure, and serene of Mind,

To save his Book, his Bishoprick resign’d.

He thought, perhaps, his Sermons might not bear

The nice Attention of a Lady’s Ear,

These Lectures he presum’d, might stand the Test,

Which all the World applies to Practice best.

Paraphrase on Agur’s Wish.

“Give me neither Poverty nor Riches.”

OThou whose Dictates rule this pensile Ball!

Who didst Privation into Being call!

With bounteous Grace thy Servant’s Pray’r allow;

Attend, propitious, to my humble Vow:

C2 Some C2v 52

Some Comfort give, that in the bounded Space

Of human Life may chear it’s fleeting Race.

Permit, great God! my happy Mean to lye

Far from indecent Want and Penury:

Restrain my open Hands and ready Tongue,

From impious Murmurs and injurious Wrong,

Keep me remote from Riches, and their Train

Of empty Pleasures, insolent and vain:

Lest my full Soul, amid her flowing Store,

Forget at once her Maker and the Poor.

Or lest the Fire of Youth, when I rejoice

In Wealth and Grandeur, silence Virtue’s Voice;

Impose on Reason by a poor Pretence,

Make Vice for Wit, and Atheism pass for Sense.

Unthinking whence that Wit and Reason flow’d,

Can Man reflect, and then forget his God?

As thy wise Bounty has dispos’d my Fate,

Above the Vulgar, and below the Great,

To future Years proportion’d Blessings grant,

Remov’d alike from Luxury and Want:

That peaceful Wishes, and Desires suppress’d

By thy eternal Laws, may rule my Breast.

So shall the Series of my future Days

Attend thy Service, and proclaims thy Praise.

Amen.

From C3r 53

From Boethius.

“Qui se volet esse potentem, Animos domet ille feroces, &c.”

The Man who does to Height of Pow’r aspire

Must curb ungovern’d Rage and wild Desire.

Nor yield his Neck, by shameful Passion broke,

In tame Submission to her servile Yoke.

Tho’ tawny Indians dread thy Canvass furl’d,

Where glowing Ocean bounds their Eastern World;

Tho’ thy Command to Thule’s utmost Coast.

Extend, and Regions of eternal Frost,

Yet what shall all avail thee, while within

Oppress’d with gloomy Cares and black Chagrin!

’Tis vain, alas! thro’ foreign Climes to roam

In Search of Empire, when ’tis lost at home.

Paraphrase on the Nicene Creed.

In thee, great God! my Soul securely rests;

This Faith my Heart receives, my Mouth attests.

In thee! bless’d Father! the superior Cause

Whence ev’n Existence its Existence draws;

C3 Of C3v 54

Of all that in the Sphere of Matter rolls,

Of Minds celestial, and unbody’d Souls.

In thee! by Nature Two, in Person One,

Anointed Saviour! his coæval Son:

Unmade, begot from that eternal Source;

E’re Time or Matter roll’d their destin’d Course;

As Light by Light diffus’d expands its Flame,

The Ray distinct, the substance still the same.

Unmade, begot, the Verity that flow’d

From Verity primæval, God of God!

One in his great Existence, at whose Call

Emerg’d the starry Heav’ns and earthly Ball.

For us did’st Thou descend, and deign below

To suffer, and relieve thy Creature’s Woe.

Thou! whom, o’er-shaded by th’ Almighty Pow’r

Of the bless’d Spirit, thy Virgin Mother bore

Inviolate: Our earthly Mold was thine;

The human Nature veiling the Divine.

Thou, doom’d by Pilate to a servile Death,

Didst on the Cross resign thy weary Breath:

The peaceful Tomb, that universal Rest

Of Nature’s Toil, receiv’d its sacred Guest;

Till the third destin’d Morning, which of old

In holy Song prophetic Seers foretold.

With her from silent Shades didst Thou arise:

Again didst Thou ascend thy native Skies;

The great Assessor of thy Father’s Throne,

Upon his nobler Hand, propitious Son!

Thou with refulgent Majesty shall come,

When trembling Mortals wait their final Doom:

All C4r 55

All who in Life shall meet the dreadful Hour:

All whom the vanquish’d Realms of Death restore

To thy Award. Thenceforth shalt Thou retain

The Sceptre of thy ever-during Reign.

In Thee! the Third of that eternal Trine:

The vital Spirit! Paraclete divine!

Who from the mighty Father and the Son

Proceed’st; with Both ador’d in Glory One.

By Thee inspir’d the antient Prophets taught

Diviner Truths, transcending human Thought.

One Church I own, by Christ’s first Legates built:

One sacred Font to purify from Guilt:

That Time I wait when Death shall Life restore;

That Life when Time and Death shall be no more.

On Mr. Pope’s Homer.

The Samian Sage, whose venerable Breast

Euphorbus’ transmigrating Soul possest,

Cou’d he revive again, wou’d joy to see

That Homer’s Spirit is transfus’d to thee.

C4 Par C4v 56

Par Nobile Fratrum.

Two Youngsters, with the same Preciseness
taught,

When rip’ning Time to due Perfection brought,

Observe how well their Principles agree;

An Atheist This, and an Enthusiast He.

The Triumvirate of Poets.

Britain with Greece and Rome contended long

For lofty Genius and poetic Song:

Till this Augustan Age with Three was blest,

To fix the Prize, and finish the Contest.

In Addison immortal Virgil reigns;

So pure his Numbers, so refin’d his Strains:

Of Nature full, with more impetuous Heat,

In Prior Horace shines, sublimely great.

Thy Country, Homer! we dispute no more,

For Pope has fix’d it to his native Shore.

The C5r 57

The Praise of Astronomy, from the first Book
of Ovid’s Fasti
.

“Felices animosae quibus hæc cognoscere primis.”—

Ohappy Souls who first aspir’d to climb,

With glorious Cares, the heav’nly Seats sublime!

Who rais’d aloft the Head, to leave behind

The Crimes and Pleasures that debase Mankind.

Nor cou’d the Cyprian Dame, or flowing Bowls,

Enerve their gen’rous Breasts, or dull their Souls:

Nor the laborious Duties of the Bar;

Nor more heroic Dangers of the War.

Nor them the Fumes of light Ambition warm’d,

Nor Glory them with painted Beauties charm’d;

Nor them sollicited the mean Desire,

That shining Dross and Golden Dust inspire:

But to our Eyes the distant Stars they brought;

And boundless Æther circumscrib’d in Thought.

’Tis not by Ossa on Olympus thrown,

Tho’ to the Stars aspires the topmost Cone

Of Pelion, pil’d on both, the Skies we gain:

’Tis thus that Science can the Heav’ns obtain.

C5 On C5v 58

On a Death’s Head.

“Est illie Leibæus Amor, qui pectora sanat, Inque suas gelidam lampadas addit aquam.” Ovid.

On this Resemblance, where we find

A Portrait drawn for all Mankind,

Fond lover gazes a while, to see

What Beauty’s Idol Charms half be,

Where are the Balls that once cou’d dart

Quick Lightning thro’ the wounded Heart?

The Skin, whosse Teint cou’d once unite

The glowing Red and polish’d White?

The Lip in brighter Ruby drest?

The Cheek with dimpled Smiles imprest?

The rising Front, where Beauty sate

Thron’d in her Residence of State;

Which, half-disclos’d and half-conceal’d,

The Hair in flowing Ringlets veil’d;

’Tis vanish’d all! remains alone

This eyeless Scalp of naked Bone:

The vacant Orbits sunk within:

The Jaw that offers at a Grin.

Is this the Object then that claims

The Tribute of our youthful Flames?

Must am’rous Hopes and fancy’d Bliss,

Too dear Delusions! end in this?

2 How C6r 59

How high does Melancholy swell!

Which Sighs can more than Language tell:

Till Love can only grieve or fear;

Reflect a while, then drop a Tear

For all that’s beautiful or dear.

From Owen’s Epigrams.

Were now the Strife renew’d, so fam’d of
Old,

When Beauty’s Queen Obtain’d the Orb of Gold,

In vain might Venus, or the warlike Maid,

Or practise Airs, or Eloquence to plead;

A modern Youth would judge with other Eyes,

And money’d Juno gain the splendid Prize.

On a Poem of the Right Honourable Lady
M.W.M.
in Mr. Hammond’s Miscellany.

Where Storms the Sea, and Wars infest
the Shore,

Where the bleak Euxine and Propontis roar,

The British Muse extends thy spreading Praise;

And there for Pierpoint plants immortal Bays.

That Orpheus once cou’d draw the savage Throng

And moving Forests to attend his Song,

C6 That C6v 60

That Helen’s Eyes contending Kings cou’d fire,

That Phaons Mistress tun’d the Doric Lyre,

No more are Fables held: Since Thrace could see

The diff’rent Wonders all reviv’d in thee.

From Virgil.

O Felix una ante alias Priameia virgo,

Hostilem ad tumulum, Trojæ sub mœnibus altis,

Juffa mori, quæ mon fortitus pertulit ullos,

Nec victoris beri tetigit captiva cubile!

O happy she alone of Priam’s Race!

Who, free from servile Bonds and dire Disgrace,

Beneath the Walls of ruin’d Ilium bled,

A Victim to th’inexorable Dead:

Exempt from hateful Lots, nor doom’d to know

The lordly Bed of a victorious Foe.

The foregoing Lines applied.

How hard a Fate enthrals the wretched Maid

By Tyrant Kindred bater’d and betray’d!

Whose Beauty, Youth, and Innocence are sold,

For shining Equipage, or Heaps of Gold:

Condemn’d to drag an odious Chain for Life;

A living Victim and a captive Wife!

More happy She, and less severe her Doom,

Who falls in all the Pride of early Bloom,

And Virgin Honours dress her peaceful Tomb!

2 Occa- C7r 61

Occasioned by a Passage in Tully de Senectute,
relating to the Immortality of the Soul. Si
in hoc erro libenter erro
, &c.

When the foreboding Soul, with firm Presage,

Contemns the narrow Bounds of human Age,

O’erleaps the Bars which Fate and Nature place,

To fix the Limits of a scanted Space,

And, upward on extended Wings sublime

Shoots thro’ the vast Abyss of future Time,

Secure that Heav’n in virtuous Toil bestows

A blissful State, interminate Repose.

If ’tis an Error, if the fleeting Breath

Resolves to Air, and dissipates in Death:

If subtile Matter and the vital Fire,

Corporeal Parts, to Elements retire;

While no reflective Pow’r, survives to sshow

That Virtue meets Reward, and Vice produces Woe.

Willful I err; and with Delight I find

The kind Delusion fortify my Mind.

For, if deceiv’d of her expected Skies,

The Soul with her material Partner dies,

Reduc’d to Nothing, No where doom’d to go,

If waste, unpeopled Realms extend below;

Philosophizing Ghosts shall ne’er upbraid

The pleasing Error to my wand’ring Shade,

From some new System of the human Frame:

From scatter’d Atoms, or extinguished Flame.

But C7v 62

But if wise Nature’s Dictates can prevail,

And weighty Reason turn the doubtful Scale,

The sure Decrees of heav’nly Justice wait

A permanent Award, and future State.

The Destruction of Babylon

From INTERNAL ERROR. Please report to wwp@neu.edu that regMe is unmatched.Isaiah, Chap. XIII.

Where the tall Rock exalts his sleepy Head,

In sign of dismal Rout the Banner spread:

With shrill resounding Cries, and wasted Hand,

Proclaim Destruction to the guilty Land;

Th’ assembled Elders summon to the Gate,

In vain consult to prop the sinking State,

Lo! I have charg’d the destin’d Train to come,

Select, and arm’d by my eternal Doom:

To whom my dread Revenge directs my Choice,

The martial Chiefs, who in my Pow’r rejoice.

Hark! how the distant Hills their Shouts rebound!

The Voice of Nations ecchoes in the Sound:

Of congregated Nations from afar;

The Lord of Hosts himself has rang’d the War.

Ev’n from remote Regions of the Skies,

The ruddy Confines of the Sun’s Uprise,

Behold! with rapid march they pour amain;

The Lord himself conducts the vengeful Train:

He heav’nly Temper to their Arms supplies,

Till the devoted Land a Desert lies.

With C8r 63

With Shrieks of Horror pierce the wounded Air!

Exalt the Voice in Accents of Despair!

The Dawn appears, the fated Morn ascends:

And sweeping Ruin from above impends.

The nervous Vigour shall desert the Arm:

Unmanly Fears the beating Heart alarm.

Incertain Terrors, ever-anxious Woe,

Keen as the Pains which teeming Mothers know,

Shall ev’ry Breast distract. With wild Amaze

And stupid Grief shall each on other gaze;

As when thro’ Dead of Night projects the
streaming Blaze.

The Day appears, the Day with Vengeance great,

Sacred to Wrath divine, and charg’d with Fate.

The Day when Desolation shall demand

The guilty People and the guilty Land.

The Stars shall fade, and all yon figur’d Schemes

Of fancy’d Monster-Gods recal their Beams:

Involving Night shall shroud the Lamp of Day,

When forth the issues thro’ th’ethereal Way,

The Silver Moon shall veil her borrow’d Ray.

Dreadful I rise, that pale Mankind may know

Supernal Wrath, and Guilt the Source of Woe.

Then Pride shall fail; and Retribution just

Extend the haughty Tyrant in the Dust.

The scatter’d Few, what yet remain behind

Sav’d from the general Waste of human Kind,

Shall be more rare, more precious than the
Store

Of Golden Talents; or the purer Ore

Of tawny Æthiops, on the farthest Shore.

The C8v 64

The Heav’ns shall tremble thro’ their liquid Space:

The solid Earth start frighted from her Base,

Roll’d thro’ the Void, when he, whose Edicts sway

The heav’nly Host, shall wake the dreadful Day.

As from the Dogs the Roe, with active Bound,

Springs thro’ the Thicket, and evades the Wound;

As fares the lamb, whom the forgetful Swain

Shuts from the Fold to wander o’er the Plain;

So flies the Fugitive, devoted Race;

Each seeks his rural Home, and peaceful native Place,

In vain! the Arrow speeds on swifter Wings:

The deathful Sword a sure Destruction brings.

Their Eyes shall see their tender Infants thrown,

Their Limbs all batter’d on the pointed Stone:

Their lofty Palaces the Victor’s Prey;

Their captive Wives disgraceful Force obey.

A Race inur’d to military Toil,

The hardy Medians, negligent of Spoil:

Chiefs who behold with undesiring Eyes

The treasur’d Silver and the golden Prize.

Their forceful Bow the warlike Youth confounds,

With rapid Deaths and undistinguished Wounds:

Nor smiling Babes escape their savage Rage;

Nor knows their Eye to pity infant Age.

Thus, Babylon! thy wide-extended Pow’rs,

Thy peerless Majesty, thy princely Tow’rs,

Unrival’d Empress of the Eastern World!

Shall sink in Ruines: As when once were hurl’d,

The blasting Lightnings and sulpherous Rain,

To wrap the Cities, and o’erwhelm the Plain.

While rolling Time, the mortal Race supplies,

While various Monarchies decline and rise,

Unha- C9r 65

Unhabited and waste, on Heaps shall lye

Thy haughty Spires which penetrate the Sky.

No Arab there shall fix the tented Shade;

Nor o’er the ruin’d Pile his Curtains spread:

No Shepherd there his lonely Watch shall keep;

Nor in the desert Palace fold his Sheep.

The savage Kind alone shall revel there;

Portents of Earth and Prodigies of Air;

The Bird of Night shall clasp her grizzly Wings,

And shaggy Satyrs dance in antic Rings.

In polish’d Domes amphibious Monsters yell,

That in the Sea-encircled Islands dwell:

O’er marble Courts shall scaly Dragons roll

Their spiry Volumes; and, portentous, howl.

Thus undelay’d on thy accurs’d Abode

Impend the Terrors of a vengeful God.

Hypatia.

Deny’d that Fame, and rob’d of that Repose

Which Learning merits, Innocence bestows,

From that poetic Shade, th’Elysian Field,

That Shade at least to Heathen Virtue yield,

Hypatia comes: The dire, revolving Date

Of circling Years renews my cruel Fate.

Did I for this to Plato’s Chair succeed,

In Youth by envious Ignorance to bleed?

When neither Virtue, nor the softer Charm

Of female Grace, the Vulgar cou’d disarm,

(To C9v 66

(To Fury heighten’d by misguided Zeal,)

To future Age I made my just Appeal.

But what detested Spell my Shade cou’d raise

To suffer L――s’ Spleen, or Toland’s Praise?

Above thy Rage, above thy Flattery more,

The tort’ring Shells with less Regret I bore:

Alas! by thee ’tis Honour to be blam’d;

And to be prais’d by thee to be defam’d.

Severe! tho’ conscious Innocence sustains

The Mind, and mean Apology disdains:

That Conduct to ambiguous Guilt belongs,

Or Souls unequal to the Weight of Wrongs.

To such her Fame would inbred Virtue owe,

Whom her exalted Flight surveys below,

Unskill’d to judge, tho’ forward to bestow,

Yet to th’Unbyass’d, the distinguish’d Few,

Whose clearer Judgment makes a just Review,

She turns undaunted, and submits her Cause:

Nor shrinks from Censure, nor demands Applause.

Such Gen’rous Warmth true Modesty inspires,

Where servile Shame with Coward Dread retires:

Virtue and Vice mistaken for the same;

Yet more distinct in Nature than in Name.

What cruel Laws depress the female Kind,

To humble Cares and servile Tasks confin’d?

In gilded Toys their florid Bloom to spend,

And empty Glories that in Age must end:

For am’rous Youth to spread the artful Snares;

And by their Triumphs to enlarge their Cares.

For, C10r 67

For, once engag’d in the domestic Chain,

Compare the Sorrows, and compute the Gain;

What Happiness can Servitude afford?

A Will resign’d to an imperious Lord,

Or Slave to Avarice, to Beauty blind,

Or sour’d with Spleen, or ranging unconfin’d.

That haughty Man, unrival’d and alone,

May boast the World of Science all his own:

As barb’rous Tyrants to secure their Sway,

Conclude that Ignorance will best obey.

Then boldly loud, and privileg’d to rail,

As Prejudice o’er Reason may prevail,

Unequal Nature is accus’d to fail.

The Theme, in keen Iambics smoothly writ,

Which was but Malice late, shall soon be Wit.

Nature in vain can Womankind inspire

With brighter Particles of active Fire,

Which to their Frame a due Proportion hold,

Refin’d by dwelling in a purer Mold,

If useless Rust must fair Endowments hide;

Or Wit, disdaining Ease, be misapply’d.

’Tis then that Wit, which Reason shou’d refine,

And disengage the Metal from the Mine,

Luxuriates; or degen’rates to Design.

Wit unemploy’d becomes a dang’rous Thing;

As Waters stagnate, and defile their Spring.

The cultivated Mind, a fertile Soil,

With rich Increase rewards the useful Toil:

But fallow left, an hateful Crop succeeds,

Of tangling Brambles, and pernicious Weeds;

’Tis C10v 68

’Tis endless Labour then the Ground to clear,

And trust the doubtful Earnest of the Year.

Yet oft we hear, in Height of stupid Pride,

Some senseless Ideot curse a letter’d Bride.

Is this a Crime? for female Minds to share

The early Influence of instructive Care:

To learn from treach’rous Passions to divest

The yielding Softness of a youthful Breast;

The Heart with solid Prudence to redeem

From fond, mistaken Objects of Esteem.

To see in Fortune, when she smiles serene,

A dang’rous Syren with a fawning Mien:

But when she frowns, to scorn her vain Alarms,

Secure in Virtue’s adamantine Arms,

Or to distinguish, with a stricter View,

The near Resemblance of the False and True:

Of Vice and Virtue there the Bounds to fix,

Just where their fading Colours seem to mix.

Or yet is this a Crime? By Measures just,

In figur’d Space to circumscribe the Dust:

With Ecstacy, Proportion to compare,

Of streight and crooked, circular and square;

Abstracted Truths in Numbers to explain,

Or in mysterious Secrecy retain.

Or yet is this a Crime? the Mind to raise,

To follow Nature in her winding Ways:

To interdicted Knowledge to aspire,

And of the mighty Parent thus enquire.

How C11r 69

How all that Reason points, or Sense can see,

At first began, and yet persists to be:

How, link’d in Peace, the Elements combine,

And each contributes to the great Design;

Tho’ when the chymic Fires their Parts divide,

The Volatile ascend, the Gross subside.

What in her Cells the central Earth contains;

How latent Metals ripen in their Veins:

How ruder Flints the sparkling Gem inclose;

And how amid the Rock the Ruby glows.

From whence the Ear4th imbibes the humid Stores,

Which weeping Marble ouzes at its Pores:

Why justly she renews the annual Scene,

Now white with Snow, now gay with springing
Green.

Whence knows th’ refluent Ocean to obey

Th’alternate Impulse of the lunar Ray.

What diff’rent Principles do Life bestow

Upon the Scale of Beings here below;

Whence some have only to exist and grow.

Of these, why some upon their native Bed

Lye prostrate: some to Heav’n erect the Head;

Why some a leavy Shade alone produce;

Why others clust’ring Fruit and gen’rous Juice.

Why some the Air with spicy Odors fill;

Some thro’ the wounded Bark their Balm distil:

Whence some have Pow’r to stay the fleeting Breath;

And some the fatal Shafts of instant Death.

Or why those Beings which we Brutes miscal,

So closely imitate the Rational.

How- C11v 70

Howe’er that Fire that animates their Frame

May be defin’d, or whence soe’er it came;

Which now collected, and in Bodies fix’d,

With liquid Air hereafter may be mix’d:

Yet by external Acts they seem endu’d

With Hatred, Love, Resentment, Gratitude;

Almost the Samian Sage Belief might gain,

That transmigrating Souls their Breasts contain.

Or how the Race of Man perceives within,

That Principle whence these Demands begin:

How Nature does in him to Sense unite

A more exalted Flame, and purer Light,

Empower’d to choose, reject, divide, combine,

With Rays reflected on the Past to shine,

And thence the distant Future to divine.

Whether, distinct, the Heav’n-born Mind controul

The headstrong Animal, the lower Soul;

Or but a Part herself conduct the Whole.

Or of Primæval Light is she a Ray,

Infus’d to guide the amicable Clay?

Or hold these Bodies the reluctant Mind

In Penalty of former Guilt confin’d?

Is she again thro’ other Forms to stray?

Or wait the Doom of one decisive Day?

Yet, as she may, her Forces she explores,

And far above the Orb sublunar soars.

She leaves the less’ning Earth, and upwars springs,

On purer Æther to expand her Wings;

A C12r 71

A nobler Pitch her bold Enquiries fly,

Amid the Fields of her congenial Sky.

She sees the Lights which we accuse to stray,

In measur’d Dance pursue their certain Way:

And thousand Stars, which scarce to us appear,

With vivid Rays illuminate the Sphere;

In deepen’d Spaces, annd retiring Files,

Whose Distance hence the weary Eye beguiles.

She sees where Comets trail their fiery Hair,

Terrific Lustre! thro’ the shining Air:

Nor Vapours they, whose Levity aspires

At Phœbus’ Car to catch Promethean Fires;

But real Stars, which extinguish’d burn,

Thro’ larger Periods of a just Return.

Whether that Spirit which o’er all presides

Infus’d thro’ all its equal motions guides,

Or from the whole distinct, himself unseen,

Conducts and regulates the vast Machine,

Let Heav’n decide, by Reason’s finite View

To judge the Diff’rence, wou’d the Doubt renew:

Yet she aspires that Being to explore,

The Source of all, and wond’ring to adore.

Shall jealous Man to Woman then deny,

In these Debates her Faculties to try;

And spend the Moments which unheeded fly?

For this must our unhappy Sex engage

Relentless Malice, and Barbarian Rage?

While Tyrant Custom Reason over-awes;

And partial Humour to the World gives Laws.

Yet C12v 72

Yet these may conscious Innocence defy,

Approv’d to Virtue, and secure to dye:

No Doubt remains, that Fame shall then be just,

When Spleen and Creature shall be laid in Dust;

That future Ages shall reverse their Doom,

Nor impious Envy violate the Tomb.

For Virtue then, with native Lustre bright,

From Time and Death receives her strongest Light:

So when nice Art with Nature seems at Strife,

To animate the Canvas into Life,

The just Obscure the bolder Light confines,

And soft’ning Shadows swell the glowing Lines.

If in this little Piece the Doubts concerning the supreme
Being be thought exceptionable, or any Passage in
it inconsistent with the modern Philosophy, it must be
considered that I was to adapt my Notions to the Character
of an Heathen and a Platonist, who is sup-posed to deliver them: Indeed as to Comets, I have
deviated a little to follow the late Improvements of
Astronomy.

Hymn to the Paraclete.

At 1723Whitsontide, 1723.

Othou the Third in that eternal Trine!

In individuate Unity divine!

Tho’ me my humble Fate denies to raise

The votive Temple, sacred to thy Praise,

Where D1r 73

Where Columns in extended Ranks retire,

And sounding Arches eccho to the Choir,

Where in the ample Dome the central Eye

Beholds the imitated Round of Sky,

Where on the Roof the artful Colours glow,

Whose Height and Distance juster Grace bestow,

Where Order and Magnificence combine,

The polish’d Marble and the golden Mine,

Yet thine the Temple of my Breast shall be,

If purify’d and consecrate by Thee:

Thither, serene, indulgent Guest! repair,

And fix thy bless’d Abode for ever there.

Whether the plastic Spirit Thou descend;

And o’er my Soul thy Dove-like Wings extend:

The warring Seeds of Nature to subdue;

And call thy fair Creation forth anew.

Whether the Advocate by Heav’n assign’d,

At once to comfort and convince the Mind;

The fiery-parted Tongues, th’ impetuous Wind:

Tho’ bellying Clouds the sable Skies invest,

And pois’nous Vapours breath the direful Pest,

Yet those before th’ impetuous Wind retire,

And these are purg’d by thy celestial Fire.

Thou the chief Boon propitious Heav’n bestows!

To whom her Force recruited Nature owes!

Dispel the Gloom of melancholy Fear,

That all within may shine serenely clear;

Nor suffer Guilt, a worse Contagion, there.

Within my Heart if Thou descend to dwell,

To Thee the Shrine, and to my Soul the Cell,

D If D1v 74

If thither Thou descend, a decent Band,

Shall all thy Graces at thy Altar stand:

Here Faith to Heav’n shall lift her Eagle Eye,

And prompt Obedience wait attentive by;

Here Penitence shall drop a silent Tear,

And holy Hope the pensive Mourner chear.

Here Piety shall her Oblation bring,

Her Pray’r the Fragrance of an Eastern Spring:

In prostrate Adoration here shall lye,

Upon the sacred Floor, Humility.

Here awful Justice shall her Balance hold,

Where Innocence can turn the Scale with Gold:

Here heav’nly-minded Wisdom from above,

Shall to the Serpent reconcile the Dove.

Here Charity her Offspring shall embrace,

And on her Bosom lull her tender Race:

Here rev’rend Truth, and Purity of Mind,

And calm Content to Providence resign’d,

Here, arm’d with fiery Darts, shall Love divine,

A Seraph wing’d, reside; and Peace shall twine

Her everlasting Olives round thy Shrine.

My Soul, illumin’d with an heav’nly Beam,

Shou’d slake her Thirst at thy diffusive Stream:

Then Heav’nward she shou’d wing her noble
Flight,

And float upon the vast Abyss of Light;

Or, from the Chains of Sense and Matter free,

Mount on a fiery Car of Zeal to thee.

Yet this since frail Mortality denies,

To Thee she brings her humble Sacrifice:

Con- I D2r 75

Content, if Thou her pious Hopes inspire,

That when thy Chosen just complete thy Choir,

To Thee she then may sing, to Thee may touch
the Lyre.

Ex INTERNAL ERROR. Please report to wwp@neu.edu that regMe is unmatched.Job, Capite XXVI. v. 7.

De Deo.

Ille equidem magno Boream prætendit inani:

Et nihilo imposuit terræ libratile pondus.

Ille etiam densis consstringit nubibus undas:

Nec tanto undarum rumpuntur pondere nubes.

Disposuitque adytis solium; penitusque remotum

Et nube, atque atro tenebrarum obvelat amictu,

Oceano fines circumdedit; usque diei

Dum cessant radii, dum cessant sydera noctis.

Illius ad monitum cœli intremuêre columnæ,

Attonitæ; virtute suâ qui dividit æquor,

Atque altè, prudens, infigit tela superbis.

Mente fuâ summas ornaverat ætheris arces:

Ille suâ dextrâ sinosum flexerat anguem. Zodiacum.

Hæ operum pars est (tamen hæ quantilla) Jehovæ.

Ecquis, Io, novit queis viribus intonat ille?

D2 From D2v 76

From INTERNAL ERROR. Please report to wwp@neu.edu that regMe is unmatched.Job, Chap. XXVI. v. 7.

Of God.

He o’er the spacious Void the North extends:

On nothing He the balanc’d Orb suspends.

He binds the Waters in the thick’ning Clouds;

Nor burst the Clouds beneath the weighty Floods.

He, in the deep Recess, his Throne conceals;

And, all above, with gloomy Darkness veils.

The Main he limits with the ambient Shore,

Till Day and Night alternate roll no more.

The Poles of Heav’n, like Columns unremov’d,

With Horror tremble when by him reprov’d,

He, in his Strength, divides the vast Profound;

The Proud, in Wisdom, deeply does He wound.

His Spirit Heav’n adorn’d; his Hand inroll’d

The bending Serpent The Zodiac in a circling Fold.

These of his Works are Part; a slender Store!

But who can know Him thund’ring in his Pow’r!

Psalmus D3r 77

INTERNAL ERROR. Please report to wwp@neu.edu that regMe is unmatched.Psalmus XXIX.

Vos, debellatus quorum sub legibus orbis,

Hoc agite; armatâ meditatus prælia fronte,

Dux gregis ad sacram sistatur numinis âram:

Illi mactandus, cœlorum excelsa tenenti,

Qui sceptra, & rutilis invictum robur in armis,

Contulerat; tanto reddentur nomine grates:

Supplice corde Deo, precibusque litate pudicis;

Castaque adorandum venerentur pectora Numen.

Ille coercerat reboantia flumina ripis:

Ille & diffissis jaculatur nubibus ignes;

Et circumfuso distrinxit littore pontum.

Vox sonat ipsa Deum; quantâ virtute tonantem!

Vox sonat ipsa Deum; pro majestate tonantem.

Vox sonat ipsa Deum; flexere cacumina cedri:

Diruptasque trabes, & fisso cortice cedros

Libanus, & Sylvas a vertice plorat ademptas.

Libanus ipse salit vitulus ceu matre relictâ:

Et nostræ cingens confinia Sirion oræ,

Rhinoceros veluti parvo petit obvia cornu.

Voce ssparsos Dominus modo discutit ignes:

Voce quatit Sylvas; nostræ contermina terræ,

En! trepidat saxosa Cades. Damæque fugaces

Ventris onus ponunt; flammis dumeta relucent:

Templa sonant, reboant lætum fastigia carmen.

obscured1 lettert Pater Oceano frustraque frementibus undis,

Asidens tenet æterni moderamina sceptri:

D3 Bello D3v 78

Bello & pace potens, qui claros Marte triumphos,

Qui pacis lætos populis largitur honores.

INTERNAL ERROR. Please report to wwp@neu.edu that regMe is unmatched.Psalmus LXXIX.

O Deus, invadunt populi tua regna profani:

Aspice sacrilegâ diruta templa manu.

Jamque æquata solo, et magnis spectanda ruinis,

Infelix Solyme, gloria nostra, jacet.

Jamque piorum avido projecta cadavera rostro

Vultur, jam rabido diripit ore lupus.

Perque vias Solymæ fusus ruit undique sanguis,

Ut tumet hybernis auctio amnis aquis.

Quique pio officio componat corpora lecto

Pallida funereo, nullus amicus adest:

Hostiles tulimus fastus; risuque jocisque

Insultat nostris obvia turba malis.

An Deus æternum sævis? tibi numne perennes

Ignis inexstincti subjicit ira faces?

Justa licet, gentes potius petat illa profanas;

Scilicet ignaras immemoresque tui:

Siqua tibi nunquam votis operata pudicis;

Siqua pias nunquam concipit ore preces.

Nempe Jacobæos patriâ ferus expulit hostis;

Barbarus abreptas et populatur opes.

Prisea tamen nunquam subeant tibi crimina mentem:

Sed ser maturo tempore mitis opem.

To decet, alme Parens, rebus succurrere lapsis:

Parta tibi nostræ fama salutis erit.

Con- D4r 79

Consule jam miseris: Nobis placabile semper

Numen, et augusti nominis esto memor.

Cur toties nobis populi objecere propinqui

Dicite ubi vester jam Deus ille latet?

O si cernere sit nobis, mora segnis abesto;

Cernere erit, quum tu conspiciendus eris;

Innocuique aderis cultorum sanguinis ultor,

Et scelerum pœnas barbara turba dabit.

Quæ captivorum lassant suspiria pectus

Et leni tristes accipe mente preces:

Utque tui juris mors est et vita, lacerto

Eripe tu valido corpora danda neci.

Te quibus opprobiis vicinia læfit, et ipsis

In proprios reddas terque quaterque sinus.

Nos tua turba tibi grati instauramus honores;

Nos tibi ceu proprium læta per arva pecus:

Sic tua venturi memorabunt facta nepotes;

Ne taceant laudes sæcula sera tuas.

Quâ celer Euphrates Babylonia rura pererrat,

Margine in irriguo dum nos consedimus omnes,

Infelix Solymê! memori stant mente dolores

Te super, inque genas lacrymæ volvuntur inanes:

Inque falicta lyræ, lento curvamine, pendent.

At domini illudunt curis; mœstâque referri

Voce, jubent notum Solymæa per atria carmen,

O rector mundi! tu carminis hujus origo!

D4 Barba- D4v 80

Barbaricâne sacer cantabitur hymnus in ora?

O Patria! O Solyme! si salteni, oblivia demant

Te, veneranda, mihi, fugiat sua munera dextra:

Et lingua æternum tacito, precor, hæreat ore,

Excidere ex animo si tu, carissima, possis:

Siqua meum, sine te, pertentant gaudia pectus.

O! tandem exaudi, pœnas crudelis Idume

Pendeat ex æquo: Solymes cum debita fatis

Atra dies aderat, scelus hæc hortata, jubebat

Tecta solo æquari, sternique in pulvere turres.

At restas, Babylon, in quot servata dolores:

Jam prope consequitur, felixque vocabitur ultor,

Qui tibi, pro Solymê, victricia jura rependet:

Quique tuam prolem saxis illidet acutis.

Ex Libro IV.
De Immiatione Christi.
Cap. VIII.
Christus ad Animam.

Porrectis quoniam lignum per triste lacertis,

Supplicium nudo corpore sponte tuli:

Nil suit integrum, membris animâque litavi;

Æterno cessi victima grata Deo.

San- D5r 81

Sanguine qui suso placavi numinis iram,

Me tibi qui dederam, te mihi jure negas?

Quid cumulata mihi struis usque altaria donis

Divitibus, desit si mihi dantis amor?

Intemerata sides, castæ concordia mentis,

Et pietas magni muneris instar erit.

Me fine, vel frustra arridet tibi blanda voluptas:

Me sine nec prosunt quas tibi quæris opes.

Scilicet an quicquam, quam sis male grata, negavi?

Te corpus pascit, sanguinis unda lavat.

Ni secura mihi vitamque animamque resignes,

Non tibi cœlestis vincula nectet amor.

Ast ego te miseris jubeo valedicere nugis:

Obsequio cupias si placuisse tuo.

Te tandem, vacuo positis e pectore curis,

Trade mihi, monitis erudienda meis.

Aldricius de Pæto. Memoriter.

Mane ceu Pæti viret herba campis

Indicis, succisa cadente Phœo,

Aret, humanæ miseranda vitæ

Præterit umbra.

Fistula qusquis studiose Pæt

Hos bibis succos sapiens memento

Instar ut fumi exeat in vagantes

Spiritus auras.

D5 Fistu- D5v 82

Fistulam spectes, fragilemque lapsu

Fictilem argillam; monet ut caducum

Fæce terrenâ minimoque constet

Pulvere corpu.

En! color certat nivibus; sed intra

Multa suligo Medium canalem

Polluit; tanquam maculas referret

Pectoris atri.

Ut tamen sordes renovata flammis

Exuit nigras, animus vel olim,

Igne purgatis vitiis, nitebit

Ætheris hospes.

M.S.
Johannis Woodward, M.D.

Woodwardus actis ille laboribus

Telluris imæ qua licuit sinum

Scrutatus arcanum, parentis

Conditus hic gremio quiescit.

Quamvis medentum nobilis artibus:

Verique sacras pandere origines,

Doctus; superjectis ut olim

Terra vetus latitârit undis.

Immersa donec conditor optimus

Fluctus vagantes oceani simul

Rede- D6r 83

Redegit in priscas lacunas,

Et stabilem recreavit orbem.

Mirere conchas per juga Montium:

Effossa saxis et spolia æquoris,

Artusque phocarum relictos;

Quæque tulit peregrina tellus.

Nec livor unquam, nec fuga temporis

Obliviosi, solveret hoc opus:

Natura, ni tecum periret,

Ætherâ populante flammâ.

In parmam Woodwardianam.

Semicremata vides disjectis mœnia saxis:

En! versa in cineres maxima Roma jacet.

En! aurum appensum; stat contra, injustaque ferri

Lancibus imponit pondera celta serox.

Romanæ advolitant acies, mediusque citatum

Impellit torvâ fronte Camillus equum.

Umbo semper erit nulli violabilis ævo:

Artifices celant tempora longa manus.

Sedibus ereptum sacratis rite reponet

Fama tamen Domini posteritasque memor.

D6 Ad D6v 84

Ad Fratrem Brugis ageniem.

O! mihi siquis, patrioque cœo,

Te, licet sero, incolumem redonet:

Te nec æternum Morinorum in agros

Fata relegent.

Quos procax nobis numeros, jocusque

Musa dictaret? mihi dum tibique

Temperent baccis Arabes, vel herbis

Pocula seres.

Ex prosâ Latina Epigrammatum delectu,
in usum Etonesium.

Terra parens rerum, post actos rite labores,

Agricolam gremio tu bona conde bonum.

Sæpe tibi duræ stirpem commisit olivæ;

Populeas vinxit palmite sæpe comas:

Utilis et pratis, cerealibus utilis agris;

Ducere vel rivos per sata doctus aquæ.

Hic olus assurgit; vel pressi pondere rami

Poma ferunt Domino rustica dona suo.

Quid tibi, sancte senex, meritis pro talibus optem?

Quid tibi pro meritis grata rependat humus?

Tu D7r 85

Tu saltem, Tellus, canis levis esto coloni;

Et fac perpetuis floreat urna rofis.

Anne Boleyn to King Henry VIII.

An Epistle.

Amid the Joys of this auspicious Hour,

When Fame exalted and extended Pow’r

With mingled Rays your Sov’reign Head adorn,

Permit unhappy Anne at least to mourn:

Permit one Object to disturb the Scene,

An injur’d Lover and a captive Queen,

That Hand which late the regal Sceptre bore,

And which, when join’d to yours, was honour’d more,

Scarce to its Task the trembling Pen constrains;

So much is Grief a greater Weight than Chains.

Irresolute I sit; alike ’tis vain

Or to suppress my Sorrows, or complain

Of Woes that Language never can contain.

What Nature most to Womankind endears,

Whate’er the first and justest Value bears

By universal Voice, demands my Tears.

With Fear my Bosom beats, and sinks with Shame,

When the Debate is Life, and Love, and Fame.

O! how can I proceed, so fast arise

The crowding Images, and stream my Eyes!

Or D7v 86

Or whence, my Liege! shall my Complaint begin

To move Compassion, or Belief to win?

When now the Series of a blamless Life

Is found too weak to vindicate your Wife.

To prove that Truth requir’d by your Command,

Let all my Actions be severely scan’d:

To you my Virtue makes a bold Appeal;

Cou’d or your Greatness, or your Pow’r prevail?

Or cou’d your Person, grac’d above Compare

With manly Beauty, and an awful Air?

Or all the Charms that Learning cou’d impart

To native Eloquence, with soothing Art,

To charm the Frailty of a female Heart?

While rival Princesses aspir’d in vain

To share your Empire, or your Heart to gain,

While jealous France her utmost Efforts try’d

To buy your Friendship with a royal Bride, “A Royal Bride.” Margaret Dutchess of Alençon, afterwards
Queen of Navarre, Sister to Fran. I. famous for her Wit and Patronage
of Learning.

Cou’d any Arts my Innocence surprize?

For guarded Virtue sees thro’ other Eyes.

Let ev’n that jealous France my Deeds report;

A daring Challenge to a partial Court!

There pass’d my early Years, and thence I claim

The Debt of Justice, to defend my Name.

Wou’d two great Queens, “Two great Queens.” Mary, Sister to King Henry, first marriedried
to Lewis XII. of France, afterward to Charles Brandon, Duke
of
Suffolk
, and the Consort of Francis I.
by Virtue plac’d as high,

In spotless Fame, as beauteous in the Eye,

Among D8r 87

Among their honourable Maids retain

Suspected Boleyn, touch’d with guilty Stain,

Dear to their Breast, and foremost of their Train?

Where Virtue fails, what Arguments can move?

Can tend’rest Proofs of undissembled Love?

Such as in Virgin Hearts from Nature spring,

Distinguishing the Lover from the King.

From Pow’r abstracted to yourself be just;

Reflect again, and scorn the mean Distrust.

’Tis true that never durst my bashful Eye,

Much less my humble Thoughts have soar’d so
high

I well concluded what Event must wait

On Love divided by unequal Fate:

When Passion is the blind Effect of Chance,

The slight Impression of a transient Glance;

When Prudence, Int’rest, and the potent Voice

Of Fame conspire, and all reprove the Choice.

Whate’er of fond, believing Maids I heard,

And Men inconstant, for myself I fear’d:

Too well your Sex weak Woman knows to gain,

With fictious Vows, and a delusive Strain

’Till ev’n our Hearts your Artifices aid,

Or by Ambition, or by Love betray’d.

The Conquest won, away the Victor flies,

To seek Variety in other Eyes:

While the forsaken Fair beholds him part,

And pines with Anguish of a broken Heart.

Ev’n D8v 88

Ev’n then, when flatt’ring Stars the Passion bless,

And Hymenæals crown the wish’d Success,

Then stern Ambition points to other Views;

Or some succeeding Flame the past subdues,

And Man the Chace of novelty pursues.

He looks abroad, and struggles to be freed;

Disgusts and Jealousies, alas! succeed.

He wishes for the Hour that shall divide

The weary Husband from the suff’ring Bride;

Or else prevents it, by some useful Flaw,

Some lucky Turn of misconstructed Law.

Too well I guess’d what must at last ensue:

Too soon these direful Omens struck my View,

When first, my Liege! I heard of Love and
You.

But then my unsuspecting Soul assur’d

A nobler Mind my Happiness secur’d:

That such a Change in you no Place cou’d find;

Whom Nature had for Royalty design’d,

And pointed out the first of all Mankind.

To Crowns and Sceptres Fortune can advance;

But to deserve them is no Work of Chance.

Rebels and Foes that Valour claims to awe,

That Wisdom, Nations to receive its Law;

(I argued thus,) and he who can persuade “He who can persuade the Learn’d and Wise.” Henry VIII. was
both a learned and accomplished Prince; and, as my Lord Herbert
relates, one of the handsomest Men of his Time, when he
married Jane Seymour.

The Learn’d and Wise, “He who can persuade the Learn’d and Wise.” Henry VIII. was
both a learned and accomplished Prince; and, as my Lord Herbert
relates, one of the handsomest Men of his Time, when he
married Jane Seymour.
may well an harmless Maid.

Witness D9r 89

Witness my Heart from all Ambition free,

No Hope of Greatness ever conquer’d me!

But by your Love encourag’d, I aspir’d:

How easy ’twas to like what all admir’d!

This Truth I now without a Blush may own,

That Love determin’d me, and Love alone,

To tempt the slipp’ry Grandeur of a Throne.

Let these Reflections touch my Henry’s Mind;

Said I my Henry? I the King design’d:

Forgive the erring Pen that yet dares write

The past Endearments Love would still indite.

Tho’ from your Throne and Bosom forc’d to part,

I bear your Image in my faithful Heart:

Your Royalty with Ease I can resign;

But never can forget you once were mine.

Witness, ye cruel Tow’rs! how oft I call

The Name of Henry from the ecchoing Wall:

Witness the Glass! which with a dimmer Ray

Thro’ interposing Grates admits the Day;

Where oft the Diamond, of your former Flame

The earliest Earnest, traces Henry’s Name.

No! till I sink into the silent Tomb,

If such your Will, and my impendent Doom,

Shall unexstinguish’d burn the sacred Fires,

Which Virtue warrants and which Love inspires.

Why does my Mind so sad a Fate presage!

Preventing Nature, Maladies, and Age!

When youthful Blood with lively Spirit warms,

And roseate Health diffuses all her Charms,

When D9v 90

When ev’ry Object smiling, fresh and gay,

Adorns the Prospect, to be snatch’d away!

To grow a stupid Mass of mould’ring Clay!

Whither? Ah! whither must we then remove?

Where must the discontented Spirit rove?

From Pow’r, from Pleasure, all that here below

Enchants our Senses, all Mankind must go:

But whither? that to point our Reason errs;

And only humble Faith relieves our Fears;

She promises that guiltless Souls shall know

What lasting Bliss celestial Seats bestow;

What blooming Sweets the injur’d Name embalm,

And how the Martyr gains the Victor-Palm.

By her supported, I resign my Fear:

But wounded Honour!――’tis too much to bear!

Honour both Sexes have agreed the best,

The noblest Passion of a virtuous Breast:

To fighting Fields she calls the Hero forth,

To prove his Valour, and attest his Worth;

By martial Toils the glorious Prize to buy,

With Honour conquer or with Honour dye.

In Womankind she wears a diff’rent Dress,

Frailty to guard, and Passion to suppress:

She forms the Manners with exactest Care;

Of each ambiguous Action, bids, beware!

And regulates the Motions of the Mind,

By her conducted, and to her resign’d.

’Tis all, alas! that Woman has to boast:

And all that Woman has in her is lost.

By wretched Anne how can the Load be born

Of private Censure, and of public Scorn?

And D10r 91

And harder yet to bear, when disapprov’d

By you, a Lover once, and still belov’d.

Think then what Sorrow I must undergo;

Here Sense of Virtue but augments the Woe:

For her, my Cheeks the glowing Blushes dye;

For her, whole Oceans gather in my Eye.

In vain the Passion strives in Words to break;

The Cause too odious and too great to speak:

If in Disgrace my tragic Scene must end,

And I dishonour’d to the Shades descend.

O! had I perish’d but obscure, unknown!

Far from the envy’d Splendors of a Crown!

Then had at once expir’d my Breath and Name;

As safe from Slander as remote from Fame.

But now, alas! while each succeeding Age

Shall of your Annals turn the shining Page,

To learn how warlike Scotland felt your Arms,, “How warlike Scotland felt your Arms” The Defeat of
James IV.

And England triumph’d free from all Alarms,

How potent France your valu’d Friendship sought,

And how beneath your Standards, Cæsar fought, “Beneath your Standards sar fought” The Emperor Maximilian
I.

In other Combats how from Rome you gain’d “In other Combats bow from Rome.” The Stile of Defender of
the Faith, conferr’d on this King and his Successors by the Pope,
for writing against Luther.

The glorious Stile for sacred Faith maintain’d,

There D10v 92

There still must I be read; while Times to come

Renew my Suff’rings, and repeat my Doom:

As wayward Humor governs ev’ry Breast,

Judg’d by the Bad, ev’n doubted by the Best.

Where shall my question’d Innocence appeal,

When partial Spleen assumes the Mask of Zeal? “Partial Spleen assumes the Mask of Zeal.” The Popish Clergy,
whose bitter Malice to this Queen appears from the scurrilous and
improbable Reflections of Sanders the Jesuit: For ’tis not very
likely that a Woman of a public bad Character, and withal so indifferent
a Person as he represents her, could captivate a Prince,
who did not need to be at a Loss for a Wife at that Time.

Hard Fate! for ever that I must engage

The various Insults of injurious Rage:

My own misjudging Sex, who, loth to blame

Their own Defects, imagine mine the same;

Or Men who triumph in a prostrate Fame.

And scarce among the Herd of Readers find

One pitying Tear, to speak a gen’rous Mind.

Unhappy Beauty! of our Woes the Spring!

Of all our Vanities the vainest Thing!

Fondly by our unthinking Sex desir’d;

The more endanger’d as the more admir’d!

But for a certain Fall to Greatness rais’d!

But lov’d for Change, and but for Censure prais’d!

Here my Reflections cease; and turn no more

On what my Soul had prophesy’d before.

How miserable is the Pris’ner’s State

Who lingers in the slow Suspense of Fate!

Is there a greater Ill?――Yes! one remains;

The doubted Fame which foul Suspicion stains.

To D11r 93

To obviate this, undaunted I demand

That at the Bar of Justice I may stand:

Nor there, O King! your helpless Wife expose

To the fell Rage of her relentless Foes;

But let the World decide, on what were built

The base Surmises of objected Guilt.

Or I absolv’d shall vindicate from Stain

Your Royal Infant and your glorious Reign,

Or sink in Ruin, nor my Fame survive;

’Twould then be Cruelty to bid me live.

Nor shall I then, to your Delight a Bar,

Retard the Influence of a fairer Star: “A fairer Star.” Jane Seymour.

I could have pointed to the Name before,

But Love is timorous, and I forebore.

Yet if Ambition urge, “Yet if Ambition urge.” I have not scrupled, by the prophetic
Spirit which Poesy allows to dying Persons, to allude to the current
Opinion, that King Henry sacrificed this Queen likewife, tho
in a different Manner, to the Security of the Succession; Tho’
the best of our Historians contradict it, and clear King Henry in
this particular.
and publick Good

Best by the Monarch’s Will be understood,

She too may fall, whose now too potent Eyes

Enthral your Heart, herself your Sacrifice.

Unhappy she, whoe’er like me must prove

The dire Disaster of superior Love!

One only Instance yet remains behind

To plead my Cause, and touch your royal Mind:

I When D11v 94

When in our common Pledge “Our common Pledge.” Queen Elizabeth. yourself you view,

Believe me loyal then, believe me true.

How can you doubt me, when in her design’d

You see the strongest Features of your Mind?

So just, so masterly describ’d they stand,

That Nature’s Work surpasses Holben’s Hand.

O! may she still survive!――I ask no more!

Tho’ Fancy augurs greater Things in Store,

To vindicate, tho’ late, my injur’d Name;

And emulate, perhaps, her Father’s Fame.

If in your Bosom to Conclusion draws

My Fate determin’d, and prejudg’d my Cause,

Yet think, on one impartial Day shall come

The Judge and Pris’ner to receive their Doom:

’Tis certain that my Innocence shall clear,

However runs the Voice of Rumor here.

Yet no revengeful Wish my Breast shall stain,

Nor from the Seats of Bliss my Soul detain:

Be all the Authors of my Wrongs forgiv’n,

And you absolv’d before the Throne of Heav’n!

Yet, if I ever to your Breast was dear,

Your dread Displeasure let me singly bear:

’Tis but a poor Request to fall alone,

For her whom Fortune tumbles from a Throne.

Ye Angel Guardians! “Ye Angel Guardians”. Anne Boleyn ends her Letter with a
Recomendation of the King to Heaven, too solemn to be introduced
into this Sort of Poetry.
who the Throne defend,

And hov’ring Light in Air, unseen attend;

If D12r 95

If heav’nly Mind can hear a Mortal’s Pray’r,

From threat’ning Danger guard your sacred Care:

From foreign Wars, and from seditious Strife,

From dark Conspiracy preserve his Life.

Nor ever, ever let the faithless Wiles

Of perjur’d Beauty “Perjur’d Beauty”. A Presage hinting at the Infidelities of
Catherine Howard.
drest in gaudy Smiles,

The Conflict of the Royal Breast renew;

And by the false One justify the True.

If ever Boleyn to Remembrance brought

Too late shou’d Pity gain, suppress the Thought:

Ev’n Pity I renounce, if it must bring

But an uneasy Moment to the King.

And whence, O sad Reverse of prosp’rous Fate!

Must these unhappy Lines receive their Date?

Not from fair Greenwich ever-pleasing Bow’rs;

Not from the painted Roof of Woolfey’s Tow’rs: “Woolsey’s Towers”. Whitehall.

But from the Gothic Structures, “Gothic Structures”. The Lieutenant’s House in the Tower. whence on
high

Far, far Beneath I cast my distant Eye,

And see your subject River rolling by.

Alas! how diff’rent from the shining Court

Is this Abode? debarr’d of all Resort?

A Band of Goalers, not a Guard of State,

With surly Aspect here observes the gate:

Where D12v 96

Where in its Fall the massive Barrier clangs, —

And threat’ning Ruin the Portcullis hangs.

Think how I pass the melancholy Hours,

Alone, immur’d in these relentless Tow’rs,

My languid Head upon my Hand declin’d,

Supported only by the conscious Mind.

The Day in pensive Solitude I weep,

And all the Night an anxious Vigil keep;

Or if my weary Eyes, at length opprest

With ever-during Cares, resign to Rest,

Soon start aghast, with shrill-resounding Streams,

From all the Terrors of presaging Dreams:

Nor so reliev’d, the Terrors all remain,

Trac’d in too lively Colours on my Brain;

And imag’d stronger than they were before,

All seems a Vision now, a Dream no more.

The dire Idea by Reflection frights:

Now murther’d Innocents and royal Sprights

Glancing all pale, before my Curtains glare,

Grizzly with gaping Wounds and upstart Hair;

Or Forms of Fancy, or embody’d Air.

Now to my boding Fears the Spectres tell,

How pious Henry, “Pious Henry.” Henry VI. how young Edward “Young Edward.” Edward V. fell:

Come then! or calls a Voice, or seems to call

Increase the Number destin’d here to fall!

Here too my poor Remains must rest unknown,

No Name inscrib’d, no monumental Stone:

No E1r 97

No weeping Servant must my Hearse attend,

No pious Kinsman, no afflicted Friend.

They fly me all! how barb’rous! how ingrate!

All but the faithful Few “The faithful Few”. Her Brother the Lord Rochford, Henry
Norris
, Esq; and others who suffered on her Account.
who share my Fate!

Deterr’d by their Example, who shall dare

Compose my lifeless Limbs with decent Care?

Who from polluting Gore my Body lave?

Or lay me peaceful in an humble Grave?

Who then shall interdicted Pity show?

Permit a Sigh to breath, a Tear to flow?

Or whisp’ring soft, my mounting Spirit aid?

Light lye the Earth, and rest the gentle Shade!

Such fun’ral Rites Historians have informed us that this unfortunate Lady was
interred without even the Regards of common Decency: They
tell us that not so much as a Coffin was provided for her; for
Want of which her Body was put into an Arrow-Chest, and buried
in the Tower Chapel before the high Altar. Where the high
Altar stood, a Person best skilled in the Antiquities of the Place
was not able to inform me; but it is conjectured by an Accident
that happened a few Years since, that she was not buried in the
Chapel: For in a Cellar adjoining thereto were found, in such a
Chest as Writers mention, not very deeply covered with Earth,
the Bonees of a human Body of a small Stature, the Scull only
wanting. These Bones, after being view’d by several Persons,
were by all concluded to be the Remains of Anne Boleyn, and soon
after again covered in the same Place.
alone must I receive

As Enmity confers, or Chance can give.

Pity, the meanest Boon a Queen can claim,

Is due at least to Boleyn’s once lov’d Name:

E That E1v 98

That Name had yet my noblest Boast remain’d,

Had not your Will another Fate ordain’d.

But you advanc’d me to an higher Sphere,

And Pembroke glitter’d with the Brightest there;

With more conspicuous Lustre next I shone,

Declar’d the Partner of your Heart and Throne:

Earth has no more to give,―― Alluding to her last Words: That the King of a private Gentlewoman
had made her a Marchioness, of a Marchioness a Queen:
and since he could prefer her no higher on Earth, of a Queen would
maker her a Saint in Heaven.
but you supply

Her Poverty, and lift me to the Sky;

Thither, where Amaranths eternal grow,

To wreath the Chaplet for the Martyr’s Brow.

The Hint of this Epstle was taken from the last Letter
of this unfortunate Pincess to King Henry, still presserved
in the Cotton Library, and printed int he Spectators;
in which we have a lasting Monument of the
Quickness of her Understanding,, and the Greatness of her
Spirit: To her Wit and engaging Behaviour she owed
her Advancement; her Ruin partly to the King’s Inconstancy,
and partly to Reason of State , which required
a more indisputed Succession than could be had from a
Marriage not acknowledged by foreign Princes. Tho’ it
cannot be denied that her immoderate Fondness for being
admired, the usual Result of a French Education, as
well as the implacable Malice of a Party who apprehended
her Favour to the Reformation, contributed to her
Fall: I shall not enter into her general Character, tho’
no Writer seems to have treated it with Impartiality, except E2r 99
except my Lord Herbert. But as I have given this
Letter entirely a poetical Cast, it was not improper to
explain some Parts of the History alluded to in it.

The microcosm, asserting the
Dignity of Man.

“Sanctius bis Animal, mentisque capacius altæ.” Ovid.
This Essay of mine was occasioned by an ingenious
Poem, called the Universe; which takes in the most
curious Parts of Nature with a beautiful Variety: I
think that Scripture favours the opposite Side; tho’ here
accus’d of Self-Love and Arrogance. I refer the whole
of this Argument to INTERNAL ERROR. Please report to wwp@neu.edu that regMe is unmatched.Psalm 8. where it is expressed with
a significant and elegant Brevity.
On this Svubject I first intended a larger Introduction:
Bust as I design, not Controversy, but Contrast, shall content
myself with what I have premised.

The Microcosm.

Ascend, my Soul, and elevate thy Thought,

To view the Wonders by thy Maker wrought;

To you bright Arch thy dazzled Eyes erect,

And in the Work confess the Architect:

Then, looking down, contracted in a Span,

Behold another Universe in Man.

E2 Dust E2v 100

Dust is his Origin, and Earth his Place:

But on the Mother’s Side tho’ Man be base,

Sprung from the sacred Sire, to Heav’n ally’d,

The conscious Soul maintains her noble Pride,

Nor is it Pride: What Gratitude were due

Unless the Value of the Gift she knew?

No more, O Man! thy Faculties disgrace;

Nor seek to herd among the reptile Race:

Nor thro’ the boundless Fields of Æther roam,

Lost in thy Search――Begin thy Search at Home.

Think on thy first Forefather when he lay

Inanimate upon his native Clay:

The beauteous Symmetry, tho’ not inspir’d

With vital Breath, was then to be admir’d.

When Art but imitates in Parian Stone,

The swelling Muscles, and the jointed Bone,

The steady Thighs, the Ribs with easy Sweep,

Which all erect the stately Posture keep,

The supple Knee, the Ancles firm to stand,

The bending Fingers, and the grasping Hand,

The Neck, with gentle Negligence inclin’d,

The lively Features that express the Mind,

When thus, tho’ from the Marble hard and rude,

With yielding Flesh the Figure seems endu’d,

How can its Air to Veneration move?

Or the cold Iv’ry warm the Carver’s Love?

What this external Mold contains within

Unseen, unknown; to actuate the Machine,

Or why the whole, or why the Parts were made,

Each for itsself, and each for mutual Aid,

Re- E3r 101

Remains to ask; See! from the Ground he springs.

What Pow’r has giv’n the grov’ling Creature
Wings?

See! how to Heav’n he casts his op’ning Eyes;

New to the Scene of Wonders he descries:

Then runs, and leaps, perceives and understands,

And lifts with sudden Ecstasy his Hands;

Say, whence am I? and whence these Objects all

That strike my Sense? He calls, or seems to call.

What is that Sense? how downward from the
Brain

The subtile Nerves deduce their artful Chain,

And what æthereal Juice their Tubes contain,

What to the Ear impulsive Air conveys,

What in the Eye collects the visual Rays,

Let Reason trade; in all their Mazes lost:

The smallest Work commends the Artist most.

Yet Usefulness of Parts, and Sense acute,

Man but enjoys in common with the Brute:

They move, and feed, and leave their Like behind:

To him a nobler Province is assign’d,

To worship God, and benefit his Kind.

When from the Sun his Fire Prometheus stole,

Cou’d that give Reason to the human Soul?

That vital Fire each as he likes explain;

Lodg’d in the Heart, or lab’ring in the Brain,

From whence the circulating Spirits flow;

Pleasure or Pain their Action may bestow,

But ’tis the Mind determines Bliss or Woe.

E3 Who E3v 102

Who was it first the infant Tongue unbound,

And tun’d it to the Elements of Sound?

The World of Beings by their Names to call,

Or by soft Intervals to rise and fall?

The mimic Parrot ecchoes what is taught;

The Speech of Man is the Result of Thought:

The Lark and Linnet Strain their warbling Throats;

But not a Word accompanies their Notes.

O! then to God thy double Tribute bring!

Reason to speak his Works, and Verse to sing.

Since such Pre-eminence is thine alone,

In these great Gifts their greater Author own:

Nor doubt that all was giv’n to thy Command,

Arm’d with that Vide Ray on the Creation. useful Instrument, the Hand,

To tame thy Vassals of the Air and Land.

By this, and Reason’s Aid be taught to shear

The bleating Sheep, and break the sturdy Steer:

Thine is the Robe the curling Fleeces yield;

And thine the Plenty of the furrow’d Field.

Go, lure the Falcon from his airy Way;

Not for himself the Taker takes the Prey:

Toss’d from his Master’s Hand he soars above,

And chaces thro’ the Clouds the trembling Dove;

Or grapples with the Heron, when on high,

He rends her finny Captives in the Sky.

Go; teach the gen’rous Courser not to fear,

When the shrill Trumpet terrifies the Ear:

In equal Rank to keep or change his Ground;

Tho’ Thousands fall, and Thunder roars around.

Lybians and Indians, marching to the War,

May scorn the fiery Steed, and rolling Car:

Amid E4r 103

Amid the swarthy Host aloft appears

A living Bulk, that crested Turrets bears,

Forward he presses on the adverse Foe;

While the bold Archer deals his Darts below.

Who taught to manage that unweildy Strength?

Or, with the sinewy Trunk’s enormous Length,

His mounting Rider to his Seat to aid?

Or pierce the thickest Legions undismay’d

Tho’ in impenetrable Scales array’d?

When Behemoth the ruling Voice obeys:

Q. Curtius Hist. of Alexander and Porus. Or from the Field his wounded Lord conveys,

Go; from the Mountain fell the lofty Pine:

Since all the Forests on his Brows are thine:

And Reason gives, thy Labours to prepare,

The Wedge and Ax, the Compasses and Square.

Raise the tall Mast, and rib the solid Sides;

Build the stout Vessel that, with Winds and
Tides

May seek the Regions which the Sea divides;

Or steer thy Course, where, by the frozen Poles,

Leviathan upon the Ocean rolls;

And the fierce Sea-horse seleeps on icey Shoals.

Tho’ INTERNAL ERROR. Please report to wwp@neu.edu that regMe is unmatched.Job xli. he the rattling of thy Shafts deride,

Tho’ he be Sov’reign o’er the Sons of Pride.

When from thy Hand the piercing Barb is thrown

The Monster trembles, tho’ his Heart be stone:

Wounded he roars, and drags the length’ning
Line,

And mingled with his Blood he spouts the Brine,

Lash’d by his ample Tail the frothy Surges
shine:

E4 Then E4v 104

Then to the shallow Shores for Safety flies;

While on his Back whole Groves of Lances rise.

Who to these Arts, O Mortal! led thy Way?

To rule the Brutes made thee more wise than
they,

The Wild to conquer, while the Tame obey?

Or canst thou doubt that Nature’s golden Law

Once kept spontaneous Innocence in Awe?

Tho’ then the Rebel Beast refus’d thy Yoak,

When Rebel Man to God his Fealty broke.

What various Life in lesser Forms we see?

Who first instructed the laborious Bee,

Not in our Rules of Architecture skill’d,

Sexangular her waxen Dome to build,

To lodge her Brood, and hoard her luscious Store?

Mark!――and the great Geometer adore.

Unweary’d she collects the flow’ry Bloom;

For Man to rifle the nectareous Comb:

With fragrant Herbs to temper in the Bowl,

To cool his Veins and chear his fainting Soul;

Or dire intesstine Tortures to allay,

The lab’ring Lungs, and Stone’s impetuous Way.

Nor think thy Maker was in Part unkind,

And to minuter Objects left thee blind,

When in the Microscope thou canst descry,

The Gnat’s sharp Spear, the Muscles of a Fly:

These might at Random thy Inquiry Scape;

But there thou may’st examine all their Shape.

Those the gay Down of Insects to behold,

Or Millions crowding in the Plumb’s blue Mold,

Or in the Acorn view the branching Tree;

Wiser or better dost thou seek to be?

Acknow- E5r 105

Acknowledge him who taught Mankind to try

The curious Use of that fictitious Eye.

Look to yon Heav’n above: was that design’d

To serve thy Wants, or exercise thy Mind?

Tho’ that fair Moon, to chear the gloomy Night,

Around thy Globe conveys her borrow’d Light;

Tho’ other Stars, each in his proper Sphere,

Divide thy Days and Nights, thy Month and Year,

Beyond thy Ken remoter Orbits run,

In each a Sysstem which attends a Sun.

While we look up and gaze and guess below

At what we are not privileg’d to know,

How can thy Pride imagine it shou’d be

He who rules there shou’d cast an Eye to thee?

Be that confess’d; we own his Care the more,

Who taught to find those Worlds unknown before,

Who summons each by Name, and numbers all
their Store.

Nor is it long since Reason cou’d invent

An Eye to pierce the distant Firmament:

A thousand Stars disclosing to our View,

Or in Appearance or Discov’ry new,

But what from them to Mortals can accrue?

Their Influence in a Space, so vast and void,

Must all be dissipated and destroy’d.

What are the Beings that inhabit there?

Or how their Nature suited to their Sphere?

Where wou’d that Icarus of Fancy rove,

And then drop headlong from his Flight above?

Ambition! never weep for Worlds unknown;

But learn to be contented with thy own.

E5 Yet E5v 106

Yet these are thine; as destin’d to conduce

Connected to thy necessary Use:

As in their Turns they rise and disappear,

To point the rural Labours of the Year.

Led by these Lights, for Knowledge or for Gain,

Launch the good Ship, and plough the spacious
Main:

And on whatever Spot by Tempest tost,

Explore thy Distance from thy native Coast.

This little World, where we pretend to Sway,

One Half, for Ages, undiscover’d lay:

The Sailor then, the Magnet’s Aid unknown,

And scar’d with Monsters of the torrid Zone,

Believ’d the verdant Cape the farthest Ground;

And all beyond was lost in Sea profound,

Or old Atlantis in Oblivion drown’d.

That other Pole, that sinks beneath our Sight,

They doom’d to Waters or “Illum
Sub pedibus Styx atra videt.
Illic, ut prohibent, aut intempesta filet nox
Semper.”
Virgil.
eternal Night:

Not so Columbus; and he judg’d aright.

Sedate, tho’ bold, and resolute, tho’ wise,

Distress, and Storms., and Envy to despise,

O’er the wide Waves he led the dauntless Crew,

Fame, Wealth, and Empire, all at once in View.

Where other Shores arise and Stars appear:

And the fair Crosiers light the Southern Sphere.

Yet Man was there; tho’ rude in Arts like ours,

The same in all his Faculties and Pow’rs:

And E6r 107

And with the same inventive Wit inspir’d

To find what his Necessity requir’d.

Irregular to Heav’ns more usual Laws,

Say, whence his Train the fiery Comet draws?

Thro’ what unfathom’d void his Course is bound?

Or how to vanish in the vast Profound?

Let Halley this, or Newton this explain;

And fix his Period to return again:

While the pale Vulgar sees, with wild Amaze,

The Sword of God, unsheath’d for Vengeance
blaze.

Avert that Omen, Heav’n! avert our Guilt:

Enough, alas! of native Blood is spilt.

Yet neither they determine, nor presage:

The Lord of Hosts commands when War shall
rage,

To tame the Licence of an impious Age.

A Mind that grasps the habitable Ball,

Aspires to Heav’n, and strives to measure all.

Whether at Objects so remote from hence

She guess aright, or err with specious Sense,

Superior Excellence of Man proclaims:

Tho’ oft mistaking in his glorious Aims.

His boasted Science by Degrees he gains,

As op’ning Truth rewards his tiresome Pains:

For that acquir’d without the Labour try’d,

Would sink its Worth and elevate his Pride.

Labour to Man was as his Portion giv’n;

How just and how benevolent is Heav’n!

The Soul from stupid Indolence to raise;

To trace the great Creator’s mystic Ways.

E6 And E6v 108

INTERNAL ERROR. Please report to wwp@neu.edu that regMe is unmatched.Ecclesiasticus iii. 23. Be not curious in unnecessary Matters. And much, O Mortal! to thy curious Mind,-

Has Time reveal’d; and much Remains behind:

Leave that to Heav’n, and know thy Search confin’d.

Howe’er important thy Discov’ries are,

Another Age demands an equal Share.

INTERNAL ERROR. Please report to wwp@neu.edu that regMe is unmatched.Ecclesiastes iii. 12. Number, and Weight, and Measure to explain,

Can thy small Heart this ample World contain?

Yet there has God infix’d the keen Desire;

Excites, and not forbids thee to inquire:

A pleasing Task! tho’ none can comprehend

Its first Beginning, or its latest End.

How well was that Advice thyself to know,

Ascrib’d to Heav’n by Sages long ago!

Thy very Doubt of all these wond’rous Things.

From that high Monitor within thee springs.

Daughter of Heav’n, my Soul! for such thou art,

Not of material Elements a Part,

On this fair Scene thy present Sense employ:

But raise thy nobler Hope to future Joy.

Tho’ Heav’n shall vanish, and the Stars shall fall,

And rolling Flames dissolve this earthly Ball,

The Just in happy Mansions shall remain,

While Worlds shall perish, and revive again.

The E7r 109

The three Children in the fiery Furnace.

The proud Chaldean made of fusile Gold,

A mighty Image of gigantic Mold!

On Dura’s Plain, of solid Metal cast

He rear’d the Frame, immeasurably vast.

Then thro’ the East he sent his dread Commands,

To Chiefs and Ancients of the various Lands

Of vassal Faith to his imperial Sway;

Or forc’d by right of Conquest to obey:

He summon’d all; and to the Feast resort

The servile Princes, and obsequious Court.

An Herald then: ’tis thus the King commands,

Ye various Nations, Languages, and Lands!

When thro’ the ecchoing Heav’n you hear around

The martial Trumpet and the Cornet sound,

When softer Flutes their Harmony respire

And miscellaneoue Stop of vocal Wire.

Then, humbly prostrate on the Ground, adore

The regal Image of refulgent Ore.

To him who shall presume to disobey

’Tis certain Death; and void of all Delay:

That moment shall the destin’d Wretch expire,

Plung’d in the Furnace of devouring Fire.

The Musick sounds, and instant at the Call,

O Shame of human Minds! they prostrate Fall.

With Envy stung a fawning Crew drew near:

Officious to invade the Royal Ear.

O E7v 110

“O King!” they said, “whose long extended Line—

Of Age and Empire may no Bound confine!

Long in thy Favour have distinguish’d stood,

Three haughty Captives of the Hebrew Blood;

Who now, rebellious to thy high Decree,

With equal Scorn neglect thy Gods and thee,

And disobey thy Edict to adore

The regal Image of refulgent Ore.”

He heard; impetuous Rage and kindling Ire

With frantic Fury all his Soul inspire:

And, at his Word, the prompt Attendants bring

The pious Brethren to the vengeful King.

“And is it thus? as Wrath afforded Way,

And is it thus, he stern, began to say,

That you my Mandates and my Gods obey?

Was my Decree to only you unknown?

The Symphony unheard by you alone?

Yet, as you may, your former Crime recall;

Before the golden Statue prostrate fall:

If you persist, ’tis fix’d that you expire,

Plung’d in the Furnace of devouring Fire.

Is there a God who in the fatal Hour

Can give Assistance, or elude my Pow’r?

Unterrify’d the Brethren thus rejoin’d,

Receive the Answer of a constant Mind;

Our Deity can, if his Will require,

Extend his Hand to save us from the Fire:

The Pow’r of him from whom thy Empire springs,

In our Defence can over-rule the King’s.

But be it as befalls; we fix’d remain

Nor serve thy Gods: Thy Menaces are vain.”

The E8r 111

The Monarch frown’d; and dreadful to behold,

With alter’d Looks his flashing Eyes he roll’d.

On sevenfold Heaps he bad to build the Pyre;

And with Bitumen to foment the Fire:

Then that the Leaders of his warlike Bands

In Manacles shou’d link the Hebrews Hands.

The willing Guards the stern Behest obey,

They bound the Youths, and in their rich Array

And bright Tyars, amid the Flames they threw,

While all around the ruddy Sparkles flew.

The rapid Blaze forth from the Furnace pours,

And all the dire Assistants it devours:

In vain for Aid they call, in vain they fly,

And raise to Heav’n an unavailing Cry.

Less swift the Flood, increas’d with wintry Rain,

O’erflows its Banks, and deluges the Plain:

When Tillage, Flocks, and Swains at once it
sweeps,

And rolls the Ruin to the gulphy Deeps.

But to the three, amid surrounding Flame,

On Pennons Expedite an Angel came:

All manifest he stood, of Form divine;

Not like the Earth-born Sons of mortal Line.

In his Descent an humid Cloud he drew,

And thro’ the Furnace scatter’d cooling Dew:

His shady Wings the scorching Heat repel,

And from the Captives Limbs the Shackles fell.

At large they walk, and triumph o’er the Fire;

Untouch’d their Hair, un-injur’d their Attire:

Inviolate their grateful Voice they raise;

And sing, in choral Verse their Maker’s praise

2 O E8v 112

O all ye Beings! which when Time was young,

From the divine productive fiat sprung:

Bless ye the Lord, and celebrate his Praise;

His Glories over all for ever raise.

Ye Angels! delegated from above,

To act his Vengeance of declare his Love:

Bless――

Ye azure Fields! thro’ whose immense Expanse

Revolving Orbs complete their mystic Dance:

Bless――

Ye Waters! whose circumfluous Tresures lye

Above the Vaults of our inferior Sky:

Bless――

Ye who excell in Might and Virtue most

Ye Hierarchs of the celestial Host!

Bless――

Thou, Sun, the Fountain of diffusive Light!

And thou the silver Planet of the Night!

Bless――

Ye Stars! who circle thro’ th’ ethereal Space;

Ye who for ever keep your destin’d Place:

Bless――

Ye E9r 113

Ye Show’rs! which on the Earth your Drops diffuse;

Ye Exhalations, which return in Dews:

Bless――

Ye Winds! which thro’ the languid Air respire,

Or speak in Tempests your Creator’s Ire:

Bless――

Ye Flames! which with destructive Fury glow;

And you to which congenial Heat we owe:

Bless――

Ye wintry Months! unchearful and severe,

And thou, the brighter Solstice of the Year:

Bless――

Ye Dews! that owe to humid Mists your Birth;

Ye hoary Frosts that whiten all the Earth:

Bless――

Ye that in solid Chains the Waters hold!

Ye Particles of penetrating cold:

Bless――

Ye Waters in those icey Fetters bound!

Ye Snows whose silver Fleece bespreads the Ground!

Bless――

Ye Revolutions of alternate Night!

Ye Revolutions of diurnal Light!

Bless――

Thou E9v 114

Thou Light, as early born as Nature’s Prime!

Thou Darkness, ancient ere the Birth of Time!

Bless――

Ye Lightnings, waving with a dreadful glare!

Ye Clouds, suspended on the liquid Air:

Bless――

And thou terrestrial Ball to these reply;

With grateful Voice to bless the Deity:

Do thou combine to celebrate his Praise;

His Glories over all for ever raise.

Ye mountain Steeps! that emulate the Skies!

Hills that with humbler Elevation rise!

Bless――

Ye Vegetables! that with springing Green

Enrich, and beautify the rural Scene:

Bless――

Ye Springs! whose subterranean Cells contain

Collected Humor or pervading Rain:

Bless――

Ye mighty Oceans! which the World divide;

Ye Rivers! which devolve an useful Tyde:

Bless――

Enormous Whales! who Roll upon the Main;

And all who glide along the watry Plain:

Bless――

Ye E10r 115

Ye Wanderers! whom plumy Pennons bear

Aloft, in Regions of the trackless Air:

Bless――

Ye Savages of Earth! inur’d to prey;

Ye Herds, who the Command of Man obey:

Bless――

Ye whom the wise Creator of the whole

Has form’d erect, and rational of Soul:

Bless――

Ye Tribes! who sever’d from the Race of Earth,

From ancient Israel derive your Birth:

Bless――

Ye who, descended from the priestly Line,

Are ever destin’d to attend his Shrine:

Bless――

Ye Votaries! whose Piety of Mind

Is to the Service of the Lord resign’d:

Bless――

Ye Spirits of the Just! ye Souls who past

Thro’ mortal Toils to Happiness at last:

Bless――

Ye virtuous Hearts! where pure Religion sways

And meek Humility her Laws obeys:

Bless――

And E10v 116

And you, the three, whom dauntless Zeal inspires

To dare the Monarch’s Frown and Rage of Fires!

Bless ye the Lord and celebrate his Praise;

His Glories over all for ever raise.

On Lady Bridgwater’s Picture,

By Mr. Jervas. 17131713.

Such flowing Lines, and such a lovely Saint!

So might a Raphael a Cecilia paint.

Almost the Eye imposes on the Ear;

Her Fingers seem to move, and we to hear:

While two young Angel Forms stand list’ning by;

And wait with upward Eyes her Harmony.

No Strength of Fancy, no Success of Art,

O Jervas! this Idea cou’d impart:

Thy Pencil other Beauties may command,

But Churchill’s Eyes instruct the Master’s Hand.

Cu- E11r 117

Curiosity.

Nor wish, nor fondly seek to know

What Fate denies to human Kind:

Misfortunes more severe wou’d grow,

If what we follow we should find.

That Origin of being curst,

Does with the Sex’s Frailty suit:

And wretched Man was ruin’d first

When Woman pull’d the tempting Fruit.

How rashly she for Knowledge fought?

The fatal Error chains us still,

How dear our gen’ral Mother bought

The Knowledge of her certain Ill!

In Grace to us has Heav’ns Decree

Conceal’d from Sight Events to come:

While, by our vain Inquiries, we

Anticipate the dreaded Doom

If silent Campbell cou’d to View

The future Scenes of Time unfold;

Were his prophetic Fables true,

As Delphian Oracles of old:

By E11v 118

By mystic Arts and impious Spells,

In vain, alas! wou’d you explore,

What Fate retains in gloomy Cells;

What Love and Life have yet in Store.

Our Disappointment gives us Pain,

If ’tis impossible to know.

But what does their Discov’ry gain,

Who feel the Wound before the Blow?

Misfortune, Pain, and Death at last

’Tis certain all must undergo:

Why shou’d we singly long to taste,

The dire Ingredients of our Woe?

On the Thunder-Storm, 1726-06June 1726.

In Allusion to Horace

“Parcus Deorum cultor”

What Magazines of Sulphur in the Sky,

What Stores of Flame and crackling Nitre
lye,

When o’er our Heads the sable Clouds impend,

And Bursts of Thunder all the Concave rend;

When Forests, Mortals, and the lofty Spires

Of sacred Temples feel the darted Fires,

Ye E12r 119

Ye sceptic Wits, the latent Cause contend:

Till with the World the Controversy end:

Dispute th’ Effect of an almighty Hand,

Yet inly tremble at the forky Brand:

No Art your conscious Terrors can remove,

When God majestic thunders from above.

But when again he calms the troubled Sky

Secure to Causes natural you fly:

The formidable Voice of Heaven despise;

And think yourselves the only brave and wise.

Mistaken Fools! ’twas he assign’d to all

That universal Law we Nature call.

He bad sulphureous Particles aspire,

To float in Air, and agitate to Fire;

He guides their Fury and directs the Blow,

That menaces the guilty World below.

At his Command the livid Flames are hurl’d,

Trembles the solid Basis of the World;

Black Smoak and ruddy Fire together roll

From Ætna’s Top, and Rocks beneath the Pole:

The central Deep refunds its wat’ry Stores;

And with redoubled Rage the vast Atlantic roars.

Nor only Matter his Decrees obeys;

The various Turns of human Kind he sways:

No giddy Chance controuls our earthly Ball,

By him alternate Empires rise or fall;

’Tis his alone or to depose or crown,

To raise the Mean, or bring the Lofty down.

The E12v 120

The Lord’s Prayer.

Parent of all! who dost in Heav’n reside,

Thy venerable Name be sanctify’d:

O’er all the Universe advance thy Sway;

While, like thy Angels we, thy Will obey.

The constant Sustenance of Life bestow;

And pardon us, as we forgive a Foe:

Expose us not to Trials; but from Ill

In thy propitious Care defend us still.

No Term of Age thy Empire shall confine,

And Pow’r and Majesty are ever thine.

Sacred Ode.

Heav’nly Muse! my Soul inspire,

Tune my Voice, and string my Lyre:

Higher yet, and yet more high

Lift the mutual Harmony.

Wake me from delusive Dreams;

Vain imaginary Themes:

Lift my Voice to him above;

Wisdom, Word, and heav’nly Love.

How ineffable thy Birth?

Progeny of Heav’n and Earth!

2 God F1r 121

God e’er Time his Course began;

In his destin’d Period Man.

Offspring of a spotless Maid;

Infant in a Manger lay’d;

Welcom’d by angelic Strains;

Publish’d to the harmless Swains.

Usher’d by a new-born Star;

Sought by Sages from afar.

By the Tyrant’s Rage explor’d;

Rescu’d from the fatal Sword:

Nourish’d on the Banks of Nile;

Son recall’d from that Exile.

Heir of David’s ancient Throne;

Public Victim to atone:

Paschal Lamb and heav’nly Bread,

Food by which our Souls are fed.

King by servile Scourges torn,

Piercing Nails, and pointed Thorn;

Sol his frighted Beams withdrew,

Struck with Horror at the View:

Cou’d the Sun thy Suff’rings see,

And not sympathize with thee;

Genuine Light! who kindled his

Rising from the dark Abyss.

Nature to her Centre shook;

Ghosts their former Bodies took:

Torn the Veil to common Eyes

Leaves the naked Mysteries.

Was it not enough he dy’d?

Wounds on Wounds are multiply’d?

Can the Dead be doubly slain?

Are they sensible of Pain?

F Issues F1v 122

Issues from his bleeding Side

Water with the vital Tide:

That our scarlet Sins to lave;

This to expiate and to save.

Scene of Death, O! when to end?

See! his mournful Friends attend,

In the silent Grave to lay

Death! thy unresisting Prey.

Boast thy Triumph, Death! undone

By the Conquest thou hast won.

Barr’d are all thy Gates in vain;

He shall burst the Bars again:

As the Sun in Western Skies

Sets, but only sets to rise,

He resumes, and he alone

Voluntary Life laid down.

Now he mounts again on high

Glorious in his Victory:

Mortal Eyes pursue his Flight,

Loft amid the Fields of Light:

Angels wait him on the Wing:

Hark! alternate how they sing,

Open on your Hinges fly,

Azure Portals of the Sky!

To the King of Majesty.

Horace F2r 123

Horace to Leuconoe.

No! no! Leuconoe! seek no more

What rests for thee or me in Store;

’Tis Guilt the future to explore:

The vain Chaldean’s Art to try;

For casting thy Nativity.

’Tis better learn the worst to bear:

Whether we gain another Year;

Or this the last which shall be given

At the determin’d Will of Heav’n.

Be wise; and pierce the gen’rous Wine:

And all thy distant Hopes resign;

When but a Moment can be thine.

And what can envious Time afford,

Which flies while we pronounce the Word?

Then seize the present while you may;

Nor trust To-morrow for a Day.

Pars minima est ipsa puella sui.

This Perspective may teach your Eyes

To see your Mistress set or rise;

When you surprize her late or soon,

Unlike the Lustre of her Noon:

F2 What F2v 124

What Mouse thus arches o’er her Eyes,

Her Hair what jetty Tincture dyes;

What Cream her polish’d Forehead sleeks,

And what Vermilion stains her Cheeks.

Now wou’d not this convince a Lover

That Beauty is a Cheat all over?

Her Teeth, so far I own is right,

Are real Iv’ry, good and white.

Imitation of Horace, Lib. II. Ode 15.

“Jam pauca aratro jugera.”

We now no longer can allow,

Superfluous Acres to the Plow:

As we improve our Taste:

We turn them to fantastic Scenes,

Exotics all, and Ever-greens,

In various Order cast.

’Tis now a Crime for Trees to bear,

The Plum, the Apple, and the Pear

Are rooted from the Ground:

While Myrtles here their Buds disclose;

And there, to entertain the Nose,

The Orange blooms around.

Be- F3r 125

Behold our airy Palaces!

Our Palestrina and Farnese!

How we in Fresco breath!

Who would not think the lofty Dome

Was lifted all entire from Rome,

To Wansted or Blackheath?

Strong solid Buildings warm and plain,

Our Ancestors could entertain

An hospitable Race:

Queen Bess with humbler was content,

More frugally magnificent,

Almost upon the Place.

If ever Cost or Art they show’d,

Such as Antiquity bestow’d

’Twas to the Public given:

Then let us imitate our Sires;

And finish the majestic Spires

That slowly rise to Heav’n.

The Coquette and Prude.

The vain Coquette you soon may know;

The perfect Tally to the Beau:

Ambitious all the Sex to please,

She likes and leaves with equal Ease.

F3 With F3v 126

With mimic Airs, and Dress design’d

At nothing less than all Mankind,

She rolls her Eyes alike on all;

At Court, or Theatre, or Ball.

Her Mind important Projects fill;

To make a Party at Quadrille:

A Ticket when Faustina sings;

And such considerable Things.

Of what is new, and what is gay,

Is all she has to think or say:

She only fears some rural Clown

Should drag her from the charming Town.

At last the Youth obtains her Grace,

Whose Merit is the finest Lace:

Who dresses alamode de France;

And bows――with perfect Complaisance.

Another, more reserv’d or rude,

Assumes the Conduct of a Prude:

To odious Man so grave and shy

She scarce can give him a Reply.

Of vast Discretion to reprove

That despicable Foible Love:

She wonders Girls are fond or frail;

And takes a virtuous Pride to rail.

In Company shou’d she be gay,

What the censorious World wou’d say?

But gives herself excessive Airs

Of edifying Zeal at Pray’rs.

She means to act the prudent Part;

And suffer none to touch her Heart:

Insensible F4r 127

Insensible, as she pretends;

Yet slave to mercenary Ends.

To Terms like these if native Wit

And conscious Virtue must submit,

What Motive is there to compell

A Milk-Maid to commence a Belle!

The Monument.

In vain the stately Monument you raise,

Inscrib’d with pompous Epitaphs of Praise:

By waste of Time, or sacrilege o’erthrown,

A nameless Ruin shall remain alone.

Let servile Poets, in a fawning Strain,

Applaud the Mighty, and delude the vain:

Let curious Art inspire the breathing Bust;

And marble Urns enshrine the mould’ring Dust.

Can these, alas! an after Being buy?

Or raise the Man above Mortality?

May I, in Death that useless Pride resign;

The humble Surface of the Earth be mine:

The Hand which made can recollect the Frame,

Without the Guidance of a Stone or Name.

F4 From F4v 128

From Owen’s Epigrams.

Frigidus ardentes intravit Nilus ocellos

Dum cor Ætnæo carpitur igne meum:

Nec tantus fluvio lacrymarum exstinguitur ardor,

Nec tanti fletus flumina ficcat amor.

Sic, fibi discordes, exercent vim tamen ambo,

In me concordes, ignis et unda suam.

While Nile diffuses from my streaming Eyes,

Love to my Heart of Ætnæan Fire supplies;

Nor can the copious Floods his Ardor tame;

Nor are they wasted by the raging Flame.

The jarring Elements the Wave and Fire,

Thus with united Force in me conspire.

On the Death of Sir Isaac Newton.

’Tis now the Night thy pious Friends entrust

To sacred Earth thy venerable Dust:

By Nature doom’d maturely to expire;

If Life or Fame can satiate the Desire.

Immortal and secure thy Name remains,

Which scarce the habitable World contains.

Whether F5r 129

Whether thou did’st the levell’d Tube apply,

To bring the Planets to thy searching Eye:

Or rather thro’ the Heav’ns thy Spirit flew,

To trace their Motions with a nearer View;

What Force their destin’d Line obliquely bends,

And what in vacuous Space their Weight suspends.

Or to describe how this terrestrial Ball,

Where Man, as in himself, has cent’red all,

And doom’d it ever to Repose profound,

Incessant finishes its ample Round

Of annual Course: Or to the Morning Ray

Obverts its Front; or wheels to fly the Day.

To calculate how distant we admire,

Or how enjoy remote the solar Fire,

Thy Soul th’Abyss of Numbers could explore:

Tho’ they, like Hydra, multiply their Store.

Thy Mind, enlarg’d by Nature to compute

Her vastest Work, cou’d trace the most minute.

Alike exact to penetrate the Ways

Of subtile Light, and fine æthereal Rays:

What Obstacle compels them, as they pass,

To march diverted thro’ the pervious Glass;

What various Hues the lucid Pencils paint,

How deep or glaring soften into faint;

By what Degrees their kindred Shades unite,

And how their equal Mixture spreads a White.

Sicilia now, and Samos strive in vain

With Britain bounded by the ambient Main.

Of solid Rocks on shatter’d Navies hurl’d,

And fancy’d Engines to remove the World,

Of pious Hecatombs on Altars lay’d,

When the discover’d Truth the Search repay’d

F5 Much F5v 130

Much have we heard, andsomething we believ’d;

But see the Wonders by thyself atchiev’d.

Bacon and Boyle thy Triumphs fore-run,

As Phosphor rises to precade the Sun:

Nor shall our Age or Isle resign the Praise

To Greece, for Sages born in ancient Days.

Soon shall the marble Monument arise,

And Newton’s honour’d Name attract our Eyes:

The finish’d Buff, in curious Sculpture wrought;

Shall seem to breath, alone absorpt in Thought.

When fading Letters vanish from the Wall,

And when the lofty Pile itself shall fall,

Shou’d wasting Age, and Barbarism conspire

To sink the Dome, or sacrilegious Fire,

Some future Cicero, in Times to come

Shall rescue from Neglect and Archimedes’ Tomb.

To Dr. James Sherard, M.D.

On the Hortus Elthamensis.

The wisest Man, the noblest Theme to choose,

On Trees and Plants employ’d his royal
Muse:

A Subject worthy Solomon to sing;

To sute the Sage, the Poet, and the King.

Bear me, O Muse! where Sherard dar’d to tread

By sacred Love of Vegetables led.

Where F6r 131

Where Athos lifts his solitary Brow,

Or where Olympus views the Clouds below:

Or Lebanon in nobler Song renown’d,

With everlasting Snows and Cedars crown’d;

To paint in Verse the wild majestic Scenes,

And shade their vast Variety of Greens.

May fairest Flow’rs of everlasting Bloom

And freshest Verdure still adorn his Tomb,

Who on his native Ifis has bestow’d

The Shades where Ganges and Euphrates flow’d.

The Laurel, Palm, and every sacred Tree

Are his; but yet divided still with thee:

In thy Recess shall all the Muses rove;

And Eltham’s Gardens vye with Plato’s Grove.

Winter Song.

Ask me no more, my Truth to prove,

What I wou’d suffer for my Love:

With thee I wou’d in Exile go,

To Regions of eternal Snow:

O’er Floods by solid Ice confin’d;

Thro’ Forest bare with Northern Wind:

While all around my Eyes I cast,

Where all is wild, and all is waste.

If there the tim’rous Stag you chace,

Or rouze to fight a fiercer Race,

F6 Undaunted F6v 132

Undaunted I thy Arms wou’d bear;

And give thy Hand the Hunter’s Spear.

When the low Sun withdraws his Light,

And menaces an half Year’s Night,

The conscious Moon, and Stars above,

Shall guide me with my wand’ring Love.

Beneath the Mountain’s hollow Brow,

Or in its rocky Cells below,

Thy rural Feast I wou’d provide;

Nor envy Palaces their Pride.

The softest Moss shou’d dress thy Bed,

With Savage Spoils about thee spread:

While faithful Love the Watch should keep,

To banish Danger from thy Sleep.

The Rose.

Set by Dr. Boyce.

Beneath my Feet when Flora cast

Her choicest Sweets of various Hue,

Their Charms, unheeded as I past,

Nor chear’d my Sense, nor took my View.

I chose, neglecting all the Rest,

The Provence Rose too fully blown:

I lodg’d it in my Virgin Breast,

It droop’d, alas! and dy’d too soon.

This F7r 133

This gentle Sigh, this Rain of Eyes,

Thy Beauty never can recall:

’Tis thus that all Perfection flies;

And Love and Life must fade and fall.

From Horace, Lib. I. Ode 38.

“Persicos odi, puer, Apparatus.”

I.

I Hate, my Boy! the Persian Pride;

Eternal Greens in Garlands ty’d:

And for the Rose, thy Search forbear,

To crop the latest of the Year.

II.

To simple Myrtle stand confin’d,

’Tis fit the Servants Brows to bind;

’Tis fit the Masters Brows to twine,

Who drinks beneath the shady Vine.

Song F7v 134

Song.

Set by Mr. Howard.

I.

How happy is the Maid

That lives a rural Life!

By no false Views betray’d

To know domestic Strife.

No Passion sways her Mind;

No Wishes to be great:

To humble Hopes confin’d

She shuns the flatt’ring Bait.

II.

Her Soul with calm Disdain,

Above the Pomp of Pride,

Beholds the Rich and Vain

In gilded Fetters ty’d:

While Titles, Wealth and Pow’r,

The gaudy Scene display;

And Pageants of an Hour

In Darkness glide away.

III.

But if some gentle Boy

Her faithful Bosom share,

He doubles all her Joy,

And lessens all her Care:

2 Their F8r 135

Their Moments on the Wing

The mutual Bliss improve,

And give perpetual Spring

To Virtue, Truth, and Love.

On Shakespear’s Monument.

Old Homer’s fancy’d Face, a Form unknown,

Survives in breathing Brass, or Parian Stone:

While of the Mind such Images remain,

We wish to raise the honour’d Shade again;

Immortal Wit compels us to admire

The Relique, rescu’d from devouring Fire.

Such Shakespear was; from hence Invention took

The studious Posture, and the piercing Look.

He, nobly bold, disdain’d the Bounds of Art;

And spoke the native Dictates of the Heart:

Cou’d paint the Softness of th’ enamour’d Maid,

The jealous Lover to his Rage betray’d;

Cou’d trace the Passions to their secret Springs,

The Pride of Heroes and the Wrongs of Kings;

The Murth’rer’s Guilt; and whisper in the Ear

What dire Ambition trembles but to hear.

Fairies and Ghosts obey’d his magic Wand;

And with new Beings fill’d an unknown Land:

Ev’n then he taught the visionary Throng

With useful Truth to moralize the Song.

Ye F8v 136

Ye Kings who once our ancient Sceptre sway’d!

Tho’ here in Dust your sacred Heads are lay’d,

Afford the Poet’s Monument a Room,

Whose Muse recalls you from the silent Tomb.

At her Command majestic each appears,

To claim the loyal Tribute of our Tears:

The Waste of civil Fury to disclose,

Their mighty Triumphs and their mighty Woes.

When Princes fall, too great to fall alone,

We weep those Ills our Ancestors have done.

Such was the Bard; true to his Country’s Cause,

He scorn’d to give succesful Vice Applause.

Such may he still remain, thro’ ev’ry Age,

With Patriot Virtue to inspire the Stage.

There is no genuine Picture of Shakespear. That
called his was taken long after his Death from a Person
supposed extremely like him; at the Direction of Sir
Thomas Clarges
.

To Mr. Handell.

The Sounds which vain unmeaning Accents
bear

May strike the Sense and play upon the Ear:

In youthful Breasts inspire a transient Flame;

Then vanish in the Void from whence they came.

But F9r 137

But when just Reason animates the Song,

With lofty Style, in Numbers smooth and strong,

Such as young Ammon’s Passions cou’d controul,

Or chear the Gloom of Saul’s distemper’d Soul;

To these the Goddess Muse shall tune her Voice:

For then the Muse directs the Master’s Choice.

Such Themes are suited to the Hero’s Mind:

But rural Lays have Charms for all Mankind.

Whether the Poet paints the native Scene,

Or calls to trip it on the level Green:

Or leads the Wand’rer by the Moon along,

While the sweet Chauntress tunes her Even-Song:

The serious Mind with sudden Rapture glows;

The Gazer sinks into sedate Repose:

And each in Silence doubts, if more to praise

The Pow’r of Handell’s Notes, or Milton’s Lays.

One Labour yet, great Artist! we require;

And worthy thine, as worthy Milton’s Lyre;

In Sounds adapted to his Verse to tell

How, with his Foes, the Hebrew Champion fell:

To all invincible in Force and Mind,

But to the fatal Fraud of Womankind.

To others point his Error, and his Doom;

And from the Temple’s Ruins raise his Tomb.

To F9v 138

To Mrs. Rokeby, Junior,
At Arthingworth.

Invisible, and unconfin’d by Place,

Your rural Haunts the Heav’n born Muse can
trace:

Where smiling Love attends the beautous Bride,

And the calm Hours in golden Circles glide

Remote from Tumult, Avarice and Pride.

Her airy Steps pursue where’er you rove;

Ascend the Hill or range around the Grove:

Where thro’ the sylvan Glades her View she tires,

To count the distant Vills and rising Spires.

There the first Object that your Eyes command,

Thro’ Vistas planted by a Father’s Hand,

Is the fair Prospect of paternal Land.

For Wealth let others try the faithless Main;

More certain are the Labours of the Swain:

For you this Verdure springs, this Harvest grows;

And these tall Oaks their spacious Arches close.

Or now reposing in the rustic Cell,

Or in the Bow’r of lonely Philomel,

Your own soft Voice assists the Lover’s String,

And all the Woods with gay Vertumnus ring.

All shapes to please the am’rous Youth had try’d;

Till with his own the Captive Nymph comply’d:

So may thyself be bless’d; and so thy Grove,

Where conscious Virtue dwells, and constant Love.

In F10r 139

In Memory of Mrs. Eliz. Bridges,
Ob. 1745-12-01Dec. 1, 1745, Ætat. 88.

If copious Wealth, enjoy’d to full Content,

Or length of Days in Peace and Honour spent,

Is all the anxious Heart of Man can crave,

Yet here they cease; and vanish in the Grave:

Behold the sacred Stone where Bridges lies;

But spare your Tears, for Virtue never dies.

The visionary Vestals of the Cell

In Solitude and in Oblivion dwell:

But Heav’n to her a nobler Sphere assign’d,

A Virgin Life, with a maternal Mind;

Nor was the Blessing to her Blood confin’d.

Her Heart, enlarg’d beyond a private Care,

To each Unhappy gave a gen’rous Share;

Her elevated Mind Religion sway’d,

Its Rites she reverenc’d, and its Laws obey’d;

Hence each good Work its genuine Lustre drew,

Instructing Earth, and pointing Heav’n to View.

May no rude Age of Sacrilege return

To raze thy Tomb, or violate thy Urn;

But rest in Peace, till the tremendous Call

Shall, from their silent Mansion, summon all.

When the great Master all Mankind repays;

And crowns the Bounteous with distinguish’d Rays.

April, F10v 140

1747-04-18April 18, 1747.

Proud Monuments of Art! renown’d of old

Rais’d to the Clouds above, and roof’d with
Gold,

Now vanish’d all! as destin’d to expire

By hostile Rage, or Ammon’s wanton Fire:

Yet happy you! for each enjoy’d its Date;

And shar’d at last a memorable Fate.

The short-liv’d Pile which Vanity cou’d raise

Is but coeval with the Master’s Days,

Turn’d by the Plow, what cou’d a Foe do more!

Where shall we find the tesselated Floor?

While some industrious Swain, whose painful Hand

With rising Harvest better decks the Land,

To the bewilder’d Traveller shall call

Here C―― was; or here was ――.

When F11r 141

When upright Rokeby In the Time of Edward the IId the Governors of Ireland
took Meat for their Men and Horses, and extorted Money, without
making any Satisfaction: But Sir Thomas Rokeby, who in the
thirty-first Year of Edward the IIId was the second Time made
Justiciary of Ireland said, that he would eat and drink out of
wooden Vessels and pay Gold and Silver for his Meat, Cloaths,
and Servants.
Cambden’s Annals of Ireland.
scorn’d the shining
Pelf,

Pay’d Gold, but eat in Wood or Tin himself,

When Gascoigne Sir William Gascoigne, Lord Chief Justice in the Reign of
Henry the IVth, committed to Prison Henry Prince of Wales, afterwards
King Henry the Fifth, for striking him on the King’s
Bench.
Hist. of Eng. from authentic Records.
taught a Prince to know the Law,

And Virtue kept the Royal Rake in Awe;

When we have Precedents like these at Home,

Keep thy Fabricius and thy Cato, Rome.

Ma- F11v 142

Madeira.

“Et quæ dempsistis vitæ date tempora famæ.” Ovid.
Macham, an Englishman, whom a French Historian
or Novelist stiles Sir Robert, having carried off
by Sea a Lady, whose Name other Writers say he honourably
concealed, but the Frenchman has christened
Anne D’Arset, we may suppose he intends D’Arcy,
was driven by Storms to the Island afterward from its
vast Forests called Madeira. She died there soon after
her Arrival, very probably of the Fatigue, and was
buried by her Lover; who fixed a Table with an Inscription,
and is said to have built a Chapel of Boards
over her Tomb. Whether he got off with his Companions
to Barbary, or died on the Island is uncertain;
but as Poetry has a Right to prefer the agreeable to the
probable, I have followed the French Author farther
in Verse than I think myself bound to believe him in
Prose. The whole Story is contained in few Words.
The Fate of two unfortunate English Lovers led the Portuguese
to discover an Island, which we may reasonably
judge one of the Fortunate, where the Ancient placed their
Elysium.

Madeira to Mariana.

Ye lofty Woods! ye Rocks of rugged Stone!

Ye falling Streams! attend a Lover’s Moan!

Ye F12r 143

Ye whisp’ring Winds! your gentle Breath restrain;

Be dumb ye Murmurs of the circling Main!

For never Rocks, or Woods, or Streams, or Vale,

Or rolling Ocean, heard so sad a Tale.

By Birth distinguish’d from the vulgar Herd,

Of Ancestors for Martial Worth preferr’d

I sprung: To emulate their Deeds I strove;

Excited much by Fame, and more by Love.

My Youth, inur’d to Arms, was spent in vain

For royal Edward on the Gallic Plain:

For what avails Success, if Fate denies

The beauteous Bride, the sole expected Prize?

My hated Rival, in my Absence bold,

Had brib’d her Friends with Grandeur and with
Gold;

And tho’ reluctant, and by Force compell’d,

Her Vows, extorted and her Charms with-held.

O! perish all whom Avarice can buy

To int’rest Heav’n in solemn Perjury!

To feel my Wrongs too swiftly I return,

And with a Soldier’s just Resentment burn:

The base Ingratitude of Courts upbraid,

In Terms by Sycophants to Court convey’d.

For this dishonour’d and for this confin’d,

Both Love and Vengeance fire the manly Mind:

But now releas’d, my Passion I restrain,

Or Love and Vengeance had alike been vain:

Nor cou’d my Heart its elder Claim resign;

The Vows he forc’d had long before been mine:

Determin’d thus to re’assert her Charms,

I seiz’d, and bore her from my Rival’s Arms.

At F12v 144

At first she fainted, with a female Fear;

But soon recover’d when she saw me near:

For Love was present, and that Fear control’d;

And Women hope Protection from the Bold.

A well built Bark attended near the Shore,

Where meeting Avon and Sabrina roar:

With fav’ring Gales to waft us o’er the Main

In Hope some friendly Port of France to gain.

But Winds arise, Air thunders, Ocean swells:

And my sad Soul the future Woe foretells.

Heav’n was my Foe; I now behold too late

My rash Attempt, and dread impending Fate:

Yet, if I fear, I fear for her alone;

Or for the Friends my Folly had undone.

What cou’d I do to chear the lab’ring Band?

The frighted Fair had all my Soul unman’d.

Now in my Breast her faded Cheek she hides,

And mingling Tears descend in silent Tides:

In mutual Murmurs now too late I blame

My daring Rapine; she absolves my Flame,

The same our Passion, and our Fate the same.

Now Days and Nights without Distinction past,

And all was Darkness o’er the wat’ry Waste;

Till driven beyond old Europe’s utmost Bound,

With only Skies above, and Ocean round,

The Sun burst forth; and as the Gloom dispell’d,

A low-hung Cloud at Distance we beheld:

And as the Day the wide Horizon clears,

Now to our dubious Eyes an Isle appears,

Which high to Heav’n her sylvan Summit rears.

And now, perhaps as some Enchantment leads,

Beyond our View the fancy’d Isle recedes.

2 The G1r 145

The Sailors ply their wretched Lives to save;

Or Fate conducts us to a certain Grave.

And now my Mates obtain the wish’d for Ground,

Where the steep Shore is lash’d with Sea profound:

Grove above Grove ascends in gradual Scenes,

And golden Apples glitter thro’ the Greens;

There from the Rocks the gushing Torrents flow,

To wind in Mazes thro’ the Vale below.

Of savage Beasts they found no direful Den;

No Cattle, Works of Art, or Steps of Men:

But, void of Fear, the Birds of sweetest Song,

And Doves re-murmur’d all the Cliffs along.

The fertile Climate and the fragrant Air

Might banish any Sadness but Despair.

The rest entranc’d the blissful Seat survey’d,

While from the Bark I bore the dear bought Maid:

Her tender Frame no longer cou’d sustain

The boist’rous Blast, and Dangers of the Main,

However Love exalts the gen’rous Mind,

Yet Woman’s feeble Force must lag behind.

The Toils and Dangers of the Seas o’ercome,

An unknown World must be her only Home.

While my sad Heart was pierc’d with equal Woe

I need myself the Comfort I bestow.

What said I not her flowing Tears to stay?

Beneath a spreading Cedar as we lay.

No more thy Country to thy Thought recall;

Or former Friends: in me behold them all.

When I for thee the bold Adventure try’d

Love was my Friend, and Fortune was my Guide:

The now relenting Pow’rs that rule above,

And persecuted once, indulge our Love;

G Sav’d G1v 146

Sav’d from yon Ocean, and together thrown,

In happy exile on a World unknown.

Short was the Triumph; for the Winds again

Drove back the shatter’d Pinnace to the Main:

Wide o’er the Waves she vanish’d from our View;

With all the Fates of the remaining Crew.

But when the Maid beheld the Vessel tost,

Beyond our Ken, and Hope itself was lost,

For ever now to Sea-girt Rocks confin’d,

Far from the sweet Converse of Humankind;

A while she like a Statue fix’d remains,

With cold Despair that freezes in her Veins:

Then pale and lifeless in my Arms she falls,

’Till my known Voice her flying Soul recalls.

What Aid in Solitude cou’d I impart?

Or what the Med’cine for a wounded Heart?

Three sleepless Nights, and three succeeding Days,

Her Head she strove and only strove to raise:

But all in Silence lifts to Heav’n her Eyes;

Then turns them on me, closes them, and dies.

My fatal Love, by adverse Heav’n accurst,

Endur’d these Ills, and this the last and worst.

Beneath the Cedars venerable Shade,

Adorn’d with native Flow’rs, the Tomb I made:

These and my Tears are all I cou’d bestow;

And add the mournful Tablet of our Woe.

Such were the humble Rites that I cou’d pay,

Fate and my Love have summon’d me away:

And you my Friends! Survivors of the Wave,

Unite our Ashes in this common Grave.

If better Fortune to this sylvan Place,

In future Times shall guide a Christian Race,

May G2r 147

May some kind Hand, as Piety shall move,

Or sad Remembrance of disastrous Love,

The rural Shine of fragrant Timber rear;

To shade our long neglected Sepulchre

For various Marble let the Floor be spread

With the cold Reliques of the silent Dead.

Whoe’er shall touch on this Hesperian Shore,

This Ocean pass’d and all its Dangers o’er,

When to high Heav’n your grateful Vows arise,

Mix with your Hymns our solemn Obsequies:

Then, when the Priest the pious Requiem sings,

And pure Devotion mounts on Angels Wings,

Severe Religion may perhaps relent,

And drop a Tear upon the Monument.

Our Fate, remember’d on a foreign Coast,

Shall give to Honour what to Life was lost.

On the Origin of the World.

Let those who for their fancy’d Godhead trace,

Thro’ gen’ral Nature, or unbounded Space,

With solid Reason and Discourse explain

Th’ unreal Idol of their heated Brain.

Whose Deity immerss’d in Matter lies;

Refin’d and volatile thro’ Space he flies:

The Proteus scorns Detection or Surprize:

The System on a vain Foundation built,

False Shame, and falser Pride, and tim’rous Guilt,

G2 Must G2v 148

Must weakly for a wretched Safety try;

And banish, or disarm its Deity.

Fond Man! who scorns those Principles to learn

Which Faith may teach, or Reason may discern,

Ev’n unassisted Nature bids us look

On the fair Volume of her various Book,

And then inquire, if Homer’s lofty Page,

Ulysses’ Toils, or stern Achilles’ Rage,

The Grecian Triumphs, and the Trojan Woes,

From the Result of scatter’d Letters rose.

If not, cou’d Chance the noblest Work produce

For various Beauties, and for aptest Use?

Did she, that we might see, and taste, and hear,

Contrive the Eye, the Palate, and the Ear,

And all this vast Variety around,

Of Objects visible, and Taste and Sound?

Or were they form’d, of Thought and Purpose void,

By Chance at first, and then by Chance employ’d?

And do we to combining Atoms owe

That we exist, and that we act and know?

Or shall we lay this universal Frame

For ever was, and shall remain the same?

Vain Error! by th’ ambiguous Samian taught;

And from the fabling Priests of Ægypt brought.

For ever did eternal Planets rise,

And set alternate in eternal Skies?

Or must a first determin’d Point be giv’n

From whence they started thro’ the ambient
Heav’n?

That certain Point began their vast Career;

If not they must at once be ev’ry where:

As G3r 149

As seems the whirling Brand, when it returns

In rapid Hands and in a Circle burns.

The Revolution of their endless Dance,

If unbegun, nor lessen, nor advance;

Were infinite a thousand Years before,

A thousand Ages hence shall be no more:

The part and whole must justly equal be,

Or infinites in Number disagree.

Yet grave Antiquity may turn the Scale,

When captious Wit, and jealous Reason fail:

Let Annals then, and Observations show

The Face of Heav’n and Earth so along go:

If Arts or Arms that ancient World cou’d boast,

How was their Fame in long Oblivion lost?

Had Floods of Fire or Insults of the Main,

Reduc’d Mankind to Savages again,

Tradition wou’d preserve the dire Event;

Or Nature wou’d retain the Monument.

No Trace remains of any that befel,

But one; of which the sacred Volumes tell.

The Miner wonders, as his Search explores

The Spoils of Ocean, mix’d with shining Ores:

Thus empty Shells on Alpine Hills are found,

Or wedg’d in Marble underneath the Ground;

Nor more distinct when on the Beach they lie,

Wash’d by the Tide, and gaping to the Sky.

To sum the Whole in one compendious View,

The Growth of Science proves the World but
new:

And Arts and Empire first at Babel grew.

Here first the mighty Hunter rang’d the Plain,

Rais’d his strong Walls, and fix’d his ample Reign:

G3 Here G3v 150

Here impious Men the brick-built Turret rear,

And wise Chaldæans watch the rolling Sphere;

Here, bright in Arms embattled Troops were seen;

And Myriads pouring round their warlike Queen.

This Greece relates; but Greece can add no more,

’Till Ægypt lends her inexhausted Store.

In vain of countless Ages they may boast;

Fancy herself in that Abyss is lost:

That round of vast Eternity to feign,

The Year of Plato must return again.

Yet Faith aspires to Notions more sublime,

Distinguishing Eternity from Time:

An Attribute which he alone can claim

Who always is, and always is the same.

But grant the pre-existent Seeds were held

In fluid Principles, and Chaos veil’d,

Why ever? Why not sooner did they rise

To form material Worlds and liquid Skies?

For yet no Planet, by his genial Pow’r

Matur’d the Mass, or fix’d the natal Hour.

But if the Birth from inbred Vigour came,

Aspiring Principles, enliv’ning Flame,

Why rose so late this beauteous useful Frame?

Why slept so long this indigested Mass?

Or Chaos still must be, or never was.

Then blush your universal Pan is found,

Or rarify’d to Space, or else in Matter drown’d.

Then own that God, whose Hand on all impress’d,

Created Matter, and with Order bless’d;

Omniscient Spirit, omnipresent mind,

Not press’d by Matter, nor by Space confin’d:

Time, G4r 151

Time, that to Man does in Succession flow,

By him is center’d in eternal now.

Cease, human Wit! for thy Attempts are vain

His infinite Duration to explain,

By bounded Notions, vanishing like thee,

Between what has been and what is to be.

O foolish Man! by causeless Doubts misled!

By Learning blinded, and by Wit betray’d!

Whom God from nothing did so lately raise,

Is this thy Gratitude? Is this thy Praise?

Lay all thy jangling Sophisters aside,

With verbal Gloss and wand’ring Guess supply’d:

Their Search of Truth in Falshood does abound,

Shews rather how ’tis lost, than how ’tis found.

Reason exhausted with the long Dispute,

And Passion to assert, or to confute,

May all their Systems in a Word confine,

’Tis all the Fabric of a Pow’r divine.

’Tis he the Sun with genial Flames inspires

To lead the Dance of the celestial Fires;

As in proportion’d Intervals they go,

Swift in Approaches, and at Distance slow:

Or in a less, or in a wider Space,

As his attractive Force directs their Race.

’Tis he compels them in their Orbs to keep;

Tho’ such an Influence turns their ample Sweep?

Then to the Book return, whence we receive

All we are bound to practise or believe:

Nor is the Book of Nature wrote more fair

Than is her Origin recorded There.

What Muse but the celestial cou’d indite

The vast and void Obscure? The Birth of Light?

G4 Creative G4v 152

Creative Spirit o’er the Waters hung?

Such were the Truths the raptur’d Shepherd sung,

Greater at Horebs blazing Foot, alone,

Than in the Prospect of the Memphian Throne.

Of sceptic Sophistry thy Mind divest;

And heav’nly Truth shall beam, upon thy Breast:

But not with such do these Inquiry sute,

Whose Wit is doubting, Science to dispute.

God, rob’d in Pow’r, rebellious Pride o’erthrows,

But on the humble Heart his Grace bestows.

On the Prospect from Westminster Bridge,
1750-03March 1750.

Cæsar! renown’d in Silence as in War,

Look down a while from thy maternal Star:

See! to the Skies what sacred Domes ascend,

What ample Arches o’er the River bend;

What Vills above in rural Prospect lye,

Beneath a Street that intercepts the Eye,

Where happy Commerce glads the wealthy Streams,

And floating Castles ride. Is this the Thames?

The Scene where brave Cassibelan of Yore

Repuls’d thy Legions on a savage Shore?

Britain ’tis true was hard to overcome,

Or by the Arms, or by the Arts of Rome,

Yet we allow thee Ruler of the Sphere;

And last of all resign thy Julian Year.

Now G5r 153

Now Night her highest Noon ascends,

And o’er the Globe her Shades extends:

While all her shining Lamps of Light,

The Soul to solemn Thought invite.

How were they made? by whom? or when?

And whence arose the Race of Men?

From ancient Chaos did they come?

Must Chaos be again their Tomb?

Who lighted up the vital Fire?

Whither again shall that retire?

On that important Question pause.

And learn that Nature had a Cause,

From whom the whole Creation springs;

The Cause of Causes and of Things.

The Mass in fun’ral Flames shall burn;

And rise a Phœnix from its Urn.

But, must the Soul, uncloth’d and cold,

Appear, her Maker to behold?

Or shall the gaping Grave restore,

The Robe of Flesh which once she wore?

O who shall paint her Shame and Fear?

Think, O my Soul! thou must be there;

And wish, too late, to lay aside

Thy Passions veil’d beneath thy Pride.

O God! if e’er my heedless Youth

Deny’d, or doubted of thy Truth,

If unrelenting or unjust

I spurn’d the Poor, or wrong’d my Trust,

G5 For G5v 154

For Hope I never shou’d presume;

But shrink to hide me in the Tomb:

Or to the Rocks and Mountains call

To whelm me in their gen’ral Fall.

Alas! the Frailties, which are mine,

I only can with Life resign:

When my chill Blood forgets to roll;

And Death benumbs my Sense and Soul.

These I commit to thee alone,

Thou public Victim to atone,

And judge triumphant on thy Throne.

Adieu my Friend! and may thy Woes

Be all in long Oblivion lost:

If Innocence can give Repose;

Or gentle Verse can please thy Ghost.

No pious Rite, no solemn Knell

Attended thy belov’d Remains:

Nor shall the letter’d Marble tell

What silent Earth the Charge contains.

Obscure, beneath the nameless Stone,

With thee shall Truth and Virtue sleep:

While, with her Lamp, the Muse alone,

Shall watch thy sacred Dust and weep.

Blue G6r 155

Blue Violets, and Snow-Drops pale,

In pearly Dew for thee shall mourn:

And humble Lillies of the Vale

Shall cover thy neglected Urn.

A Song.

Be still ye Winds! let ev’ry Breath,

Let ev’ry Whisper cease:

As in the quiet Cave of Death,

Thou babling Eccho! Peace!

Ye Streams without a Murmur glide;

To nourish deep Despair:

No trembling Osiers by your Side,

Disturb the Midnight Air.

Ye conscious Stars, that roll above,

To fix our Fate below;

In solemn Silence as you move

Be Witness to my Woe:

Be Witness to the Vows I made

The Tears I still must pay;

While, like a melancholy Shade,

I shun the Face of Day.

G6 Susan- G6v 156

Susanna:

or
Innocence Preserv’d.

Musical Drama.

Two Elders.

Susanna.

Her Servants.

Daniel.

Israelites and Captive Women.

Chelcias.

Joachim.

In Babylon.

First Part.

First Elder.

Tyrant of Youth! how oft we blame

Thy rash, ungovernable Flame?

Tho’ not the Snows of hoary Age,

Can thy devouring Fire asswage.

Second G7r 157

Second Elder.

An aweful Air, and learned Pride,

From public Eyes our Frailties hide:

And, while the Passions lurk within,

Afford a specious Veil to Sin.

But what Discov’ry need I fear?

First Elder.

Then have I met a Rival here?

Second Elder.

What in these Shades does thee detain?

First Elder.

Of what, my Friend, dost thou complain?

Duo.

Our common Guilt, our common Pain.

First Elder.

Wisdom! Virtue! Duty!

I confess your Sway:

What are you, when Beauty

Forces to obey?

While I gaze upon her

Phantoms all of Honour

Vanish quite away.

Second Elder.

See! to the gloomy Grove she goes,

To shun the fierce Meridian Beams:

Ye Zephyrs! lull her to Repose;

And tell my Passion to her Dreams.

Susanna.

The Croud and Senators are gone:

Securely I may bathe alone:

No Eye beneath, around, above,

Can pierce the Shades of this Alcove;

The G7v 158

The Spring is clear, and undefil’d;

And fann’d with Breezes breathing mild.

Air.

Bring, ye Virgins! bring,

Liquid Sweets and fragrant Oil;

What the lavish Spring

Scatters on this happy Soil:

What Nature breathes, or Art composes,

From Nard, or Jessamin, or Roses.

Maids.

What can be so fair and sweet

As when Love and Virtue meet,

Thus to bless, the wedded Pair?

He so faithful, she so fair.

Susanna

sola.

But O! ye Eastern Waters! as you flow,

Remember that our Country claims our Woe:

That neither Voice nor Lyre we can command,

Sighs check the Voice and Sorrow chills the Hand.

First Elder.

Whither dost thou hope to fly?

Love has a more piercing Eye.

Second Elder.

Whither dost thou hope to run?

Love has Flames thou canst not shun.

Susanna.

Ah me! what rustles thro’ the Grove?

First Elder.

No Tiger fear――

Second Elder.

’Tis only Love.

Duo. G8r 159

Duo.

No Tiger fear――

’Tis only Love.

Susanna.

Ah me! what Rustles thro’ the Grove.

First Elder.

See! how your Beauty can enslave

The Learned, the Severe and Grave:

How Wisdom, Honor, Justice, Fame,

Submit to the victorious Flame.

Second Elder.

If rev’rend Age be counted wise,

Let Youth attend what we advise:

Nor vainly lose thy lovely Prime;

For Wisdom is but Use of Time.

Susanna.

Strange are the Words; unheard before:

O cease! that I may hear no more.

Air.

To Joachim my Vows are giv’n;

Be Witness Earth! and Witness Heav’n!

Can ever Earth or Heav’n allow,

That I should break the sacred Vow?

Trio.

First Elder.

Who can our secret Love descry?

Second Elder.

Who to reveal the Tale is nigh?

Susanna.

But Witness Heav’ns all-piercing Eye

Air. G8v 160

Air.

Susanna

Or send thy Succour from above,

Or inward Force inspire,

S.

To guard me from forbidden Love;

Or quench their guilty Fire.

D.C.

First Elder.

Love ill repay’d to Vengeance turns:

Second Elder.

Vengeance than Love more fiercely burns.

Duo.

Vengeance than Love ――

First Elder.

Then Love or Death.

Second Elder.

Then Love or ――

Susanna.

Be Death my Choice.

First Elder.

And Death of Fame by publick Voice.

Duo.

And Death of Fame ――

Air.

Susanna

In Heighth of Bliss and Bloom of Youth,

How hard it is to die?

To violate my plighted Truth

Is harder to comply.

Tho’ to the Rage of impious Love

I fall a Sacrifice,

Yet know there is a Pow’r above,

Beholds with equal Eyes

I First G9r 161

First Elder.

Stop, seize, pursue――

Her Servants.[Speaker label not present in original source]

Servants Entering.

What means the Call?

Second Elder.

The Youth has overleap’d the Wall.

Servants.

What Youth?

First Elder.

Alas! in that Surprize

With her ――

Second Elder.

Cou’d we believe our Eyes!

He mocks our feeble Age, and flies;

First Elder.

We fought to hold, but he, more young,

Escap’d, and o’er the Fences sprung:

His Person was to us unknown;

Nor wou’d she tell when he was gone.

Servants.

Incredible! did ever Fame,

Or ev’n Suspicion touch her Name?

Second Elder.

Our Age such Credit may obtain:

Our Testimony is not vain.

And since our Victor does permit

We in Judicature should fit,

To Joachim’s Abode repair:

Let all the Senators be there.

First Elder.

Beauty may to Pity move;

Pity be the Bait of Love:

Justice G9v 162

Justice, aweful and severe,

Veils her Eyes and shuts her Ear;

Scorns the Bribe, and slights the Tear.

Susanna.

In Heav’n alone, in Heav’n I trust:

Tho’ Man be impious and unjust.

Air.

Adieu ye Glades! ye Springs adieu!

Did ever I commit to you

A single Thought that shun’d the View!

Adieu! Adieu! Adieu!

Second Part.

Daniel.

O! whither is the Glory gone

Of Siam, once renown’d?

Our holy Place, and David’s Throne,

Are levell’d with the Ground.

Alas! the slow revolving Year

Must circle seventy Times,

While we remain in Bondage here,

To languish for our Crimes.

Recitative

Nor is it all: Alas! our own

Exceed the Sins of Babylon:

Vice reigns thro’ our abandon’d Tribes;

Ambition, Avarice, and Bribes.

Whence G10r 163

Whence do I hear that furious Cry?

Israel.

It is Susanna, led to dye.

Daniel.

Susanna, of our royal Race?

Susanna, doom’d to this Disgrace?

Susanna, beautiful and chaste?

Israel.

Blessings, alas! but not to last.

Susanna.

Adagio.

O Pow’r Divine! to thee I call:

Behold! in Innocence I fall.

Air.

What was, and is, and is to be,

Alike are visible to thee,

Tho’ in Obscurity they lye:

And tho’ by Perjuries I dye,

Yet I am spotless in thine Eye.

Captive Women.

What alas! shall Woman trust?

Youth and Beauty are but Dust:

If so noble Blood ally’d,

All is transitory Pride.

Honour, and a spotless Name,

Bubbles of uncertain Fame:

All to vanish with a Breath.

What is all this Scene beneath?

First Elder.

See! how the Beauty, false and frail,

Unmerited their Pity draws?

Second Elder.

Shall her dissembling Tears avail

Against the Justice of our Laws?

Reci- G10v 164

Recitative.
Chelcias.

O this did ever I presage?

Is this the Comfort of my Age?

Thy pious Youth! thy modest Bloom!

Unjust and impious is the Doom,

That sinks me to the silent Tomb.

Joachin.

O! cou’d my faithful Heart deceive?

Or that fair Form my Trust betray?

O! no! I never can believe――

Together either save, or slay.

Air.
Susanna.

Thus the Falcon from above,

Shoots upon the tender Dove:

While hid in Silence lies

Her gentle Mate,

To mourn her Fate,

She trembles, bleeds and dies.

Daniel.

Witness my Hands, that you remain

Untainted with the purple Stain,

When helpless Innocence is slain.

D. C. 1st and 2d Lines.

First Elder.

Where is the Youth, who rash and bold

Usurps the Honours of the Old?

Second Elder.

Is that thou hast receiv’d from Heav’n,

Authority, to the Ancients giv’n?

Da- G11r 165

Daniel.

The Gifts of Heav’n are not confin’d,

An upright Heart, a searching Mind,

To young or old, or great or small:

If Heav’n the Breast of you inspires

Or Passion lead the hoary Sires,

Shall soon be visible to all.

First Elder.

Ascend the Tribune, and from thence

Thy Wisdom to the Croud dispense.

Daniel.

Then set the Witnesses aside:

Asunder; till the Cause be try’d.

Solemn Symphony.

And thou! alone supremely wise!

Unalterably just and true!

Assist me, thro’ the dark Disguise

Of Falsehood; to direct my View:

And all her Mazes to pursue.

Music again Piano.

Susanna.

O Pow’r divine! attend and hear!

My Tongue is ty’d by Shame and Fear:

But when the Innocent bemoan,

Pianis

Ev’n Silence whispers at thy Throne.

Daniel

to First Elder.

O thou! whose hoary Age can rove,

Lost in the Wilds of guilty Love!

Now heav’nly Vengeance brings to Light,

Thy Crimes; too close for human Sight:

For G11v 166

For thou hast clear’d exalted Guilt,

And Blood of Innocence hast spilt.

Yet tell me if thou hast beheld,

What Tree the lawless Love conceal’d?

First Elder.

Beneath a dropping Mastick; there

We surpriz’d the guilty Pair.

Daniel.

’Tis well! thy Head shall bear the Lye:

O false and fraudulent, in vain;

The Angel of the Lord stands by;

Ordain’d to sever thee in twain.

To Second Elder.

O thou of Canaan’s impious Race!

For Juda scorns a Son so base;

Since Beauty can thy Judgment blind,

And Passion over-rule thy Mind.

O’er Israel’s Daughters aw’d by Fear

Your easy Victories you gain’d.

Which she of Jada scorn’d to bear;

And all your Artifice disdain’d.

Yet tell me, if thou hast beheld,

What Tree the lawless Love condeal’d?

Second Elder.

A stately Holm above them spread

The Shelter of his ample Head.

Daniel.

O Force of Truth! that uncontroll’d

Confutes the Wise, and daunts the Bold!

How little shall thy specious Tale

To murther Innocence avail?

Air. G12r 167

Air.

Thy Sentence by thyself is giv’n!

Look up and tremble with Despair!

Behold the Minister of Heav’n!

He wheels the fiery Sword in Air;

And waits to sever thee in twain.

Ye both are destin’d to be slain.

Israel.

O! bear them, bear them to their Fate;

As to another they design’d:

Second Israel.

That impious Love, and guileful Hate,

An equal Recompense may find.

First Elder.

Conscious Anguish, guilty Shame,

Pierce my Heart, and brand my Name.

Second Elder.

Hide me, Earth! that I may lye,

Safe from Scorn and Infamy.

Duo.

But unreveng’d is twice to dye.

Chelcias.

O Daniel! just is thy Decree;

The Voice of Heav’n decides in thee:

To Susanna.

Thine is the Praise of Virtue try’d;

To Joach.

And thine the Bliss of such a Bride.

The Crown of hoary Age is mine:

The Glory to the Pow’r Divine.

Present Joy for Sorrow past,

Heightens the delicious Taste.

I Air. G12v 168

Air. Joachim.

Rumor base, and canker’d Spight,

Hence to everlasing Night;

There in solid Fetters bound,

Fetters which in vain you bite,

Murmur thro’ the dark Profound.

Susanna.

I tremble, like the frighted Deer,

That just escapes the Tiger near.

Air.

But, O! to him the Praise is due,

Who vindicates the Chaste and True:

The Triumph is not mine.

For who the Victory cou’d win

Unless supported from within

By Fortitude divine?

D. C.

Grand Chorus.

Show’r thy Blessings from above,

Author of connubial Love!

On the Hearts by thee combin’d;

Sacred Harmony of Mind!

Show’r thy Blessings from above,

Author of connubial Love!

D. H1r 169

D.D.D.

This Off’ring, Lord! I to thy Altar bring,

Now Sorrow has untun’d my Voice to sing:

Yet thus I sung, when thy auspicious Praise

Inspir’d my humble Muse in better Days.

But what is Life? while Youth is fresh and strong

Unfelt it bears the destin’d Load along:

Advancing onwards to maturer Years,

The Path, alas! is thro’ the Vale of Tears.

The Harvest blasted what have I to give?

This Sheaf, the Tribute of the Field, receive.

Psalm I.

I.

Happy the Man who never strays

In vain Consult thro’ guilty Ways:

Nor does in Paths of Sinners wait,

Nor rests in their licentious Seat.

II.

The Law divine does him employ,

With constant Diligence and Joy:

H This H1v 170

This Task prevents the dawning Light,

And fills the Vigils of the Night.

III.

So shall he live, so flourish still,

As fast beside the silver Rill,

The Tree, with Fruit maturely hung,

For ever green, for ever young.

IV.

But far unlike are the Profrane;

As parted from the solid Grain.

Beneath the Van, when Winds arise

The Chaff in whirling Eddies flies.

V.

Nor shall the Impious dare to stand

Before the Seat of high Command:

Nor shall they undiscern’d remain,

Tho’ herded with the righteous Train.

VI.

The Lord observes, with strict Survey,

How pious Men direct their Way:

The Paths in which the Wicked tread

To Certainty of Ruin lead.

Psalm H2r 171

Psalm III.

What Numbers, Lord! increase the Swarms

Which vex me with their Rage?

What Numbers in rebellious Arms

Against my Peace engage?

How many of my Soul have said,

Nor him his Deity can aid?

’Tis thou art my Protector Lord!

The Subject of my Praise:

’Tis thou that dost thy Help afford,

My Head aloft to raise.

To God I my Complaint preferr’d,

And from his Holy Hill he heard.

Upon my Couch I lay’d me down,

Securely to repose:

Supported by the Lord alone;

Again from Sleep I rose.

No Terror shall my Heart confound,

Not tho’ ten thousand hem me round.

Rouze thee, O Lord! assert my Cause,

O God in my Defence:

Thou of my Foes hast smote the Jaws

And dash’d their Teeth from thence.

Salvation does to thee belong;

’Tis thine to bless thy pious Throng.

H2 Psalm H2v 172

Psalm XXIX.

Ye Kings and Heroes! whose imperial Sway

The Subject Nations of the World obey:

Select the Leaders of the Flock with Care,

Whose budding Horns imagin’d Flights prepare;

To God’s Abode the destin’d Victims bring,

And own the Lord, of Majesty the Spring.

With Rev’rence pure his sacred Name adore;

The Author of your delegated Pow’r:

For Strength deriv’d from him your Homage own;

And prostrate fall before his awful Throne.

His Sov’reign Voice restrains the swelling Floods;

He rolls his Thunder thro’ the sable Clouds:

His Pow’r to Bounds confines the raging Sea;

And nature’s laws his dreaded voice obey.

His awful Voice commands; and all around

The stately Cedars tremble at the Sound:

From snow-crown’d Libanus the Cedars torn,

Their rifted Bole and shatter’d Branches mourn.

Not Woods alone, but solid Mountains shake;

Like Calves which Herdsmen from their Mothers
take:

Tall Libanus inclines, and Hermon moves,

As the young Unicorn his Fury proves.

Th’ Almighty speaks, the parted Clouds give way,

And thro’ the Breach the ruddy Lightnings play:

The H3r 173

The desert Region, and the wild Abode

Of Cadesh, tremble at the Voice of God.

The Forest shakes, and forc’d by sudden Throes

The frighted Hinds, their helpless Fawns depose.

The Coverts shine, detected by the Blaze,

And God’s high Temple ecchoes with his Praise.

The Lord, for ever King, tho’ Tempests rave,

Enthron’d resides above the roaring Wave.

Be thou in War thy People’s dread Defence;

In Peace the Blessings of calm Peace dispense.

Psalm XXXVII.

Nor e’er let Sinners, in Success elate,

Disturb thy Soul, or impious Doubts create:

Nor e’er at prosp’rous Guilt in Thought repine,

To wish the transitory Grandeur thine.

Shorn as the Grass shall fall their faded Pride:

Like sickly Plants, in sultry Summer dry’d.

Rely on God; employ thyself in Good:

Inhabit Earth, and rest secure of Food.

In him be thy Delight, who shall impart

Thy Wish complete to gratify thy Heart:

Thy Conduct to the Deity commend;

And trust on him to give a prosp’rous End.

He shall thy question’d Innocence display,

As from the Cloud breaks forth th’ emergent Ray:

And thy Integrity shall then be shown,

Bright as the Sun on his Meridian Throne.

H3 Then H3v 174

Then persevere; and to the Lord resign’d

Attend his Will, with Constancy of Mind:

Nor envy him who in his Way proceeds

To ripen dark Design to guilty Deeds.

From Ire and Indignation clear thy Breast:

Habitual Discontent will Sin suggest.

For from the Root shall perish the Profrane:

The Patient shall the Heritage obtain,

The Impious, Mark! how in a Moment’s Space

He vanishes away! his former Place

Nor curious Eye, nor searching Thought can
trace.

But by the Mild the Land shall be possess’d,

In Affluence, Peace, and Plentitude of Rest.

The Godless Wretch against the Man upright

Consults; and grinds his horrid Teeth for Spight:

Him shall the Lord deride; in whose Survey

Are seen the near Approaches of his Day.

His Sword the Wicked draws, he bends his Bow,

To slay the Just, and lay th’ Unhappy low:

The fatal Sword shall pierce the Master’s Heart,

And the perfidiuos Bow to Shivers start.

The Competence of pious Men is more

Than all the Miser’s Mass of hoarded Ore.

While God supports the Just, disarm’d and broke

The Sinner’s Arm shall disappoint the Stroke.

He sees the Term which yet remains behind

Of future Years to righteous Men assign’d:

That their Inheritance no Change shall know;

No Fears perplex them in the Days of Woe.

Suffic’d with Plenty, tho’ penurious Dearth

And meagre Famine desolate the Earth.

Soon H4r 175

Soon shall the Impious perish; O! how soon

The rebel Foes of Heav’ns high Lord are gone;

Like Fat of Lambs which sacred Flames consume;

Or in the apter Semblance of their Fume.

The Wicked borrows, heedless of his Day,

And means to circumvert, but not repay:

While kind Compassion, ready to impart,

Diffuses Wealth, and opens all the Heart.

These bless’d by God, their fertile Glebe shall keep:

But those his vengeful Curse away shall sweep.

He of the Good shall guide the Steps aright,

And still observes his Progress with Delight:

Tho’ he may fall, not fall’n for ever down

The Lord supports, and raises him o’erthrown.

From blooming Youth to this Decline of Age,

As long Experience ripen’d ev’ry Stage,

This Truth I still attest, I never saw

The Care of Heav’n from pious Men withdraw:

Nor helpless Orphans of the Just, unfed

From unrelenting Strangers ask their Bread.

His Charity, who does the Loan dispense,

Entails on them the Guard of Providence.

Then fly from Guilt, endeavour to excel

In virtuous Deeds, and so for ever dwell.

For still the Lord with Pleasure shall respect

The Right; nor leave his Servants to neglect;

Them with incessant Goodness he defends:

While rooted up the Race of Sinners ends.

The Pious shall the wealthy Soil divide

In Heritage; and ever there reside.

The Mouth of righteous Men maintains the Cause

Of sacred Prudence, and impartial Laws:

H4 Firm H4v 176

Firm in their Hearts the Lord’s Decrees abide,

Nor ever fears their steady Foot to slide.

The Wicked waits, and seeks the Just to slay:

The Lord shall not resign the destin’d Prey

To cruel Hands; nor when he shall appear

At his Tribunal, pass a Doom severe.

Then trust on him, and tread his Paths with Care;

And he shall raise thee his Domain to share:

When on his Foes his vengeful Wrath shall fall,

Thyself shall see the Ruin of them all.

I oft myself the impious Man have seen

In Heighth of Pow’r with an exalted Mien;

So the fair Laurel spreads her hardy Green:

He pass’d away, behold! and was no more;

Nor cou’d my Eye his vanish’d Place explore.

But mark the perfect Man; and fix thy Sight

Intent on him who well observes the Right:

How gently he from human Toil shall cease;

Compos’d and wrap’d in everlasting Peace.

But the Transgressors, as in Guilt combin’d,

Together shall a like Destruction find:

At once they end. But God in Days of Woe

Does Strength and Succour on the Just bestow:

Thou, Lord! shall aid, relieve, and set them free

From lawless Man; for they confide in thee.

Psalm XLIII.

I.

O God! deliver me from Wrong;

Defend me from an impious Throng:

From H5r 177

From secret Guile and open Strife

Relieve my Fears, and free my Life.

II.

O God! from whom my Strength is giv’n,

Why from thy Presence am I driv’n?

Why rove I thus, of Joy bereft,

And to my Foes defenceless left?

III.

Of heav’nly Light impart a Ray;

Let Truth divine direct my Way;

And to the favour’d Mountain guide,

Which thy Abode has sanctify’d.

IV.

To God I then my Steps will bend;

His holy Altar to attend:

The God who does my Joys inspire;

The God to whom I tune my Lyre.

V.

Why droops my Soul with Sorrow fraught,

And dire Inquietude of Thought?

That dire Inquietude resign,

Deliver’d to the Pow’r divine.

VI.

To him I yet my Voice will raise,

In pious Melody of Praise:

To him who does my Cheeks renew

With florid Health and roseate Hue.

H5 Psalm H5v 178

Psalm XLV.

From my full Heat bursts forth the bubling Stream;

The youthful Monarch is my darling Theme

Of sacred Verse: my Tongue, the ready Style

Of the swift Scribe, pursues the chearful Toil.

O thou in Beauty and majestic Grace

Above the Progeny of human Race!

Upon thy Lips soft Elocution flows;

Such endless Blessings God on thee bestows.

Thou, great in Arms! with military Pride,

Suspend the blazing Falchion at thy Side;

With prosp’rous Omens ride in princely State;

Truth, Mercy, Justice, in thy Train shall wait.

Thy right Hand, with inevitable Art,

Swift from the Bow shall send the piercing Dart

Against thy Foes, and fix it in their Heart.

Subdu’d and vanquish’d then the Nations all

With prostrate Homage shall before thee fall.

Thy Throne, O God! for ever shall remain;

And righteous is the Sceptre of thy Reign.

The Love of Equity delights thy Breast;

And dire Injustice all thy Thoughts detest:

For this has God, thy God himself has shed

The chearful Fragrance on thy honour’d Head

Superior to thy Peers. From thy Attire

The Tears of Myrrh with balmy Breath respire;

The aromatic Wood unfolds its Sweets,

And the rich Odour of the Cassia meets:

In H6r 179

In iv’ry Domes the measur’d Spices lay,

To swell thy Joys on this triumphal Day.

The royal Maids attend, an honour’d Band:

And on thy right, behold thy Consort stand;

Her fair Cymarrin rich Materials vyes,

Weighty with Gold, and gay with various Dyes.

To this Advice a willing Ear impart;

Let this, my Daughter! ease thy pensive Heart:

Forget the Pleasures of thy native Earth,

Forget the royal Authors of thy Birth;

So shall thy Beauty with thy Bliss improve,

The dearest Object of the Monarch’s Love.

To him thy Lord, submissive Honour pay,

While at thy Feet Phœnicia’s Daughters lay

The Wealth of Tyrus’ tributary Shore;

And suppliant Strangers shall thy Grace implore.

Tho’ cloath’d in radiant Metal shines the Queen,

Her noblest Charms are of the Mind unseen.

Upon her Robe the artful Needle pours

A gay Profusion of embroider’d Flow’rs:

With solemn Pompher fair Companions bring

The bright imperial Virgin to the King;

With Sounds of universal Joy they come

To the high Portals of the royal Dome.

Thy absent Sire thy Children shall repay;

And thro’ the World extend their princely Sway:

My Song, the Sponsion of eternal Fame,

To future Age shall celebrate thy Name;

To thee the joyful Populace shall raise,

Their loud Acclaim, and eccho to thy Praise.

H6 Psalm H6v 180

Psalm XLIX.

Ye Sons of Humankind attend me all!

Ye Habitants of this sublunar Ball;

The Rich, the Poor, the Mean, the Nobly born,

Observe me well, nor my Instruction scorn.

My Lips discursive Science shall impart,

And all on Prudence meditate my Heart:

To mystic Truth in Allegory told

I bend my Ear; and to the Harp unfold.

In adverse Times what Fear have I to feel,

Tho’ then my Guilt shou’d press my flying Heel?

Tho’ some in boasted Heaps of Wealth confide,

And by their Treasures fortify their Pride,

No Bribe prevails with Heav’n; nor can it save

A ransom’d Brother from the gaping Grave:

For Heav’n-born Souls so poor a Price transcend,

As human Wealth; and let their Labour end.

If Life cou’d last for Ages long to come,

Yet hope not vainly to escape the Tomb.

Behold, a mournful Scene, before your Eyes

The frequent Fun’rals of the Grave and Wise:

How they, like Fools and Idiots are no more;

And leave to thankless Heirs their hoarded Store.

Yet still with empty Hopes their Toils engage,

In Buildings to remain from Age to Age;

Such as transmitted thro’ a long Descent

May bear their Name, and be their Monument.

Yet H7r 181

Yet Pow’r and Titles to their Period haste,

’Tis not the Privilege of Man to last:

Too well with thoughtless Brutes may he compare,

Whose fleeting Spirit vanishes in Air.

A stupid Course! yet, in the beaten Way,

Their senseless Race approves of all they say.

Like Sheep to Slaughter they resign to Doom,

Their lifeless Limbs are bedded in the Tomb;

To Death’s insatiate Teeth a pleasing Prey:

But when the Morning shall awake the Day,

The Just shall over them obtain the Sway.

In that Abode shall waste their lovely Bloom,

For ever banish’d from their former Home.

But God my ransom’d Spirit shall retrieve

From that dire Cave; for me shall he receive.

Then fear not Man; not tho’ his Treasure swells

To vast Excess, and he in Splendor dwells:

Nor shall he bear, when he resigns his Breath,

His useless Riches to the Shades beneath;

Nor shall the pompous Ensigns, which attend

His Rites of Fun’ral, after him descend.

Yet while this vital Air the Mortal draws,

His own Felicity, the World’s Applause,

He deems inseparable, to commend

The Man to Int’rest and himself a Friend.

The darkling Paths his Fathers trod before

Himself shall trace, and see the Sun no more.

The Man who does the Pinnacle attain,

If there the Distance turn his giddy Brain,

Too well with thoughtless Brutes may he compare,

Whose fleeting Spirit vanishes in Air.

Psalm H7v 182

Psalm L.

Thus spoke the Sov’reign Lord; his Mandate
run

To summon all the World, from whence begun

His Course, to where descends the setting Sun.

From Sion God in matchless Glory shone:

Nor shall in Silence lead his Triumph on;

A Stream of rapid Flame before devours,

He wraps himself in Storms and sable Show’rs.

On Heav’n above, and our inferior Ball,

He for his People shall to Judgment call:

Summon my Saints who have a Contract made

With me, by Victims on my Altar lay’d.

The very Heav’n his Justice shall aver:

For God himself is now the Arbiter.

Hear, O my People! while I speak, while I

Myself against thee, Israel! testify:

For I am God, myself thy Deity.

Nor thy neglected Sacrifice I claim,

Nor Holocausts to feed the constant Flame:

No Bullock from thy Stalls, nor from thy Cotes

Demand I now the Leaders of thy Goats.

For mine is ev’ry Beast of ev’ry Kind

To sylvan Laires or Forest-Walls confin’d:

And mine are all the Herds whose Number fills

The spacious Pastures of a thousand Hills.

The Fowls are mine upon the Mountain Brow,

And mine the Savages in Fields below.

Did H8r 183

Did Hunger urge, to thee shou’d I complain,

When Earth is mine, and all its Stores contain?

Or shall the Flesh of Beeves be my Repaste?

Or shall the Blood of Goats delight my Taste?

On God the Tribute of thy Thanks bestow;

And to the Pow’r most high perform thy Vow:

Then call on me, when Trouble clouds thy Days;

And find my Aid, and render me thy Praise.

Then to the Impious thus. Hadst thou a Cause

To name my Covenant, or preach my Laws?

Who still averse to Discipline, behind

Hast scatter’d my Instruction in the Wind.

Thou, who with full Consent and conscious Eyes,

Hast shar’d the Robber’s and Adult’rer’s Prize.

Thy Mouth promotes Impiety and Guile:

There dost thou fit thy Brother to revile;

Thy very Brother of thy Mother born

Is by thy Calumnies expos’d to Scorn.

Such were thy Deeds, which I in Silence view’d:

And thence did thy relentless Heart conclude

That unconcern’d I to thy Crimes agree;

And by itself presum’d to judge of me.

But to reprove thee, now thy Deeds shall rise,

And open all their Horrors to thy Eyes.

O! turn your Thoughts, and all on this reflect,

Too prone your great Creator to neglect!

E’er yet he comes to rend the trembling Prey,

When all Assistance shall be far away.

’Tis he the noblest Adoration pays

Who offers up the Sacrifice of Praise:

And for the Man who guides his Actions right,

The saving Pow’r of God shall bless his Sight.

Psalm H8v 184

Psalm LVIII.

Say, O ye Senators! do you pursue

Untainted Probity in ev’ry View?

Ye Sons of Men! do all your Votes unite

To guard the Sentence of impartial Right?

Alas! within your Heart Injustice lyes,

And governs there, secure in her Disguise:

While that unequal Balance in your Hand

Distributes Violence thro’ all the Land.

The Impious, tho’ but late produc’d to Day,

Divert from Good: but newly born they stray

With early Steps; their infant Voice they try,

And their first Accents issue in a Lye.

Swol’n with the Bane, their livid Veins partake

The noxious Venom of the turgid Snake:

They, like the sullen Asp, refuse to hear;

Who folds the winding mazes of her Ear,

Nor listens to the Voice whose Skill excells

In magic Harmony and potent Spells.

Disarm their Mouths, O God! and scatter far

The dreadful Weapons of the Lion’s War,

Broke from their Jaws. So let them roll away

As ebbing Waters hasten to the Sea.

Together when the circling Points they bring

Of the tough Horn, the shining Shaft to wing,

Snap the strong Bow, and burst the founding String.

So let them waste, as Snails dissolve in Slime:

As Births which immature prevent their Time,

Nor H9r 185

Nor see the golden Sun. Ere yet the Blaze

Of crackling Thorns can heat the brazen Vase,

These, doom’d to heav’nly Wrath a living Prey,

Enwrap’d in Whirlwinds he shall bear away.

The pious Man, reflecting on the Sight,

Which fills his Bosom with severe Delight,

Observes celestial Vengeance now complete;

And in the Blood of Sinners bathes his Feet.

Mankind shall then pronounce: assur’d we trust

That Retribution shall attend the Just:

No Doubt remains, that God, the Lord of all

Dispenses Justice thro’ this earthly Ball.

Psalm LXV.

From thee, O God! begins the sacred Song:

On thee, O God! attends the pious Throng

In Sion’s Courts; the grateful Vow to pay,

And destin’d Victims on thy Flames to lay.

To thee, whose Ear receives the Voice of Pray’r,

Shall all of animated Earth repair.

My num’rous Crimes sad Prevalence obtain:

But thine it is to purge the guilty Stain.

How happy he, distinguish’d by thy Choice,

To near Attendance summon’d by thy Voice,

Who in thy Courts for ever shall remain,

And taste the bounteous Blessings of thy Fane.

Thou, by terrific Deeds in Justice wrought,

Shalt give the Answer which our Vows have sought:

O sav- H9v 186

O saving Deity! who dost maintain

The Hopes of all on Earth’s extended Plain,

And all who wander on the spacious Main.

His Strength the Rocks has rooted to the Ground:

And Pow’r with mystic Cincture girds him round.

His Will the roaring Ocean can assuage;

Or curb a frantic Nation’s wilder Rage.

Thy Signals, with tremendous Dread, controll

The limitary Circles of the Pole:

The various Climates where the Sun displays

His early Beam, or hides his setting Rays,

Resound a joyful Eccho to thy Praise.

If thou to our inferior Region come,

The gentle Show’r restores its vernal Bloom:

The Stream divine a rich Profusion yields,

And with a golden Harvest glads the Fields.

The genial Moisture chears the furrow’d Plain,

The Ridge subsides, and softens with the Rain.

Thus bless’d by thee does infant Spring appear;

And thy Indulgence crowns the future Year,

While, from beneath thy Steps, the Clouds around

With fragrant Dews enrich the fertile Ground.

Ev’n on the desert Waste the Drops distill;

And grateful Mirth resounds from ev’ry Hill.

The silver Flocks the Pasture Lands adorn,

The Vallies glitter with the waving Corn,

And o’er the smiling Fields the vocal Joys are
born.

Psalm H10r 187

Psalm LXVIII.

Let God arise, while, all in dire Dismay,

His impious Foes shall fly, dispers’d away;

So let them fly before, a routed Host,

As curling Smoak in fluid Air is lost:

As pliant Wax is liquify’d by Fire,

So let the Guilty waste in God’s avenging Ire.

Ye pious Votaries! let grateful Joy

Dilate your Breast, and all your Pow’rs employ:

Attune your Voice to celebrate his Fame,

Who rides aloft on yon celestial Frame;

Rejoice in Jah, his venerable Name.

The Orphan Babes in him a Father know;

And he relieves the Widow’d Matron’s Woe:

Impartial Judge! he vindicates her Cause,

And from his sacred Seat asserts his Laws.

The solitary Train he knows to bind

In mutual Tyes, and Unity of Mind;

The Captive he delivers from his Chain,

And leads him forth to Liberty again;

But dooms the curs’d Apostate to remain

In Thirst and Famine on a sandy Plain.

When thou, O God! all radiant at our Head,

Didst thro’ the pathless Wild thy People lead,

Earth shook beneath; distill’d the sable Show’r

From Heav’n above, before th’ approaching Pow’r:

Ev’n Sinai trembl’d on his solid Base,

Before the God, the God of Israel’s Race.

Thou H10v 188

Thou pour’st the plenteous Stores of timely Rain

To chear the thirsty Glebe of thy Domain:

Thy own peculiar People there resides;

And there thy Bounty for the Poor provides.

He spake; a numerous Train attends the Word,

And loud proclaims the Dictates of the Lord.

The Kings and Captains fled in Haste away:

While Women and Domestics share the Prey.

Ye who so late, in deep Dejection spread

Among the sully’d Caldrons made your Bed,

Shall yet arise, fair as the Wings that fold

The silver Dove, whose Plumes are ray’d with Gold.

When Kings for you th’ Almighty put to Flight,

Not Snow on Salmon was more lovely white.

The Hill of God like Basan’s Hill ascends,

High as the Hill which Basan’s Verge defends:

Why leap you thus, ye Hills? on this alone

The Lord has fix’d his Mansion and his Throne.

Him twice then thousand Chariots in Array,

The bright angelic Myriads him obey:

Presides the Sov’reign, as of old he shin’d,

On Sinai’s Summit in the Blaze enshrin’d.

While thou to Heav’n in Triumph dost arise,

Thy rescu’d Captives wait thee to the Skies:

The Tribute pay’d to thee, thou dost bestow

In Bounties to Mankind and ev’n thy Foe;

That God may dwell with Mortals here below.

Bless’d be the Pow’r, whose Goodness ev’ry Day

Does needful Aid and Benefits convey:

The God on whom we for Salvation wait;

And who commands the Avenues of Fate.

He H11r 189

He on their Head his Enemies shall wound;

Deep on their Head with flowing Tresses crown’d:

Such is their Doom, who on the guilty Way

Proceeding farther more from Virtue stray.

Thus spoke the Lord. My own selected Train

Again I guide from Basan’s fertile Plain;

Again from deep Recesses of the Main.

To purple o’er thy Feet with hostile Blood,

While thy insatiate Dogs shall lap the sanguine Flood.

My Sov’reign Lord! what Majesty Divine

Attends thy regal Progress to thy Shrine:

The venerable Priests, a vocal Choir,

Precede, behind resounds the solemn Lyre;

Fair Virgins march amid the pious Throng,

And with the lively Timbrel raise the Song.

To God, assembled Tribes! your Praises sing,

Sincerely flowing from the vital Spring.

There waits the rev’rend Patriarch’s youngest born,

And Chiefs which his diminish’d Race adorn;

There Juda, destin’d to a nobler Fate,

In Synod first, and first in princely State.

While Zebulon and Nephthali forsake

The Borders of their Sea resembling Lake.

O Author of our Force! by thy Decree

Confirm the Work which was begun by thee.

Led by thy Fame, to Solyma’s high Dome

Suppliant shall tributary Monarchs come.

Break thou the Spear, and prostrate on the Ground

The Masters of the Herd for Strength renown’d;

Till each his Pride, and all his Rage resign,

With wealthy Presents from the silver Mine:

So H11v 190

So scatter thou the Bands, whose dire Delight

Is in the Waste of Rapine and of Fight.

Then Princes shall attend from Ægypt’s Sands:

To God shall Æthiopia lift her Hands.

With early Zeal ye various Nations join,

And with united Voice extol the Pow’r Divine,

He on his glorious Chariot rides on high,

On the primæval Empyrean Sky:

Hark! how he speaks; with formidable Sound

The dreadful Eccho Thunders all around.

Ascribe to him Omnipotence alone

Who has in Israel fix’d his awful Throne:

But gather’d Clouds, his radiant State conceal,

And over his Tribunal Cast a Veil.

How dreadful is the Majesty Divine!

What Terrors wait around his sacred Shrine.

’Tis Israel’s God with Glory and Success

Adorns his Tribes: ’tis ours his Name to bless.

Psalm LXXII.

O God! do thou inspire the Monarch’s Thought,

With Lessons of unerring Justice fraught;

Derive the lineal Blessing to his Son,

And teach thy right Decrees to Solomon:

He to thy Tribes shall give impartial Laws,

And thus instructed guard the poor Man’s Cause.

Peace to the People shall the Mountains bring:

From humble Hills Integrity shall spring.

2 He, H12r 191

He, to their injur’d Innocence a Friend,

The Destitute and Orphan shall defend:

And in his Wrath the proud Oppressor rend.

Thee shall they rev’rence, while the golden Sun

His constant Race shall thro’ the Zodiac run,

Thee, while the various Moon with borrow’d Light

Shall Sandys. in a silver Orb her Horns unite,

Thee, while the restless Course of Time supplies

One Race expiring with another’s Rise.

He from above shall come, as falling Dews

Upon the curling Fleece Gideon’s Fleece. their Drops diffuse:

Or as the Show’rs of seasonable Rain

With vegetative Humor steep the Plain

The Just shall prosper in his happy Days:

And Peace abundant till the Moon decays.

From Sea to Sea shall spread his ample Reign:

Here bounds Euphrates, there the Western Main.

The Tribes who wander in the lonely Waste,

Shall bow to him: his Foes before him cast

Shall lick the Dust. To him the Kings who reign

In foreign Isles and o’er the distant Main,

And Kings who Arab and Sabæa sway

Shall wealthy Tribute and Oblation pay.

The Monarchs all shall fall before him prone;

And Men their universal Sov’reign own.

He saves the Wretches who his Aid implore;

And guards the Unassisted and the Poor:

In him they shall a gen’rous Patron find,

To rescue them, and chear their anxious Mind;

From Fraud and Rabine he their Souls redeems,

And precious in his Sight their Blood esteems.

Long H12v 192

Long shall he live; and from Arabia’s Store

Receive the Treasures of her shining Ore:

To him shall all their Supplications pay,

And sing his Praise with each returning Day.

From scatter’d Grain, which scarce the Grasp cou’d fill,

Shall golden Harvest crown the summit Hill,

Trenbling with burthen’d Ears; so shake the Woods

When Lebanon with all his Forests nods:

And in the peaceful City shall be seen

Her People, chearful as the vernal Green.

His Name shall ever last, his deathless Name,

While Day’s bright Lamp renews his orient Flame:

And all Posterity to him shall give

The Praise of Blessings they from him receive.

Let Israel’s God be bless’d, by whom alone

Such signal Acts and Miracles are done:

Bless’d be the Name, and Majesty Divine,

And o’er the spacious World his Glory shine.

Psalm LXXIII.

’Tis certain God to Israel does approve,

To Hearts untainted, his indulgent Love,

But from his Path my Feet were near to slide,

And my unsteady Steps to turn aside:

At impious Men my Breast with Envy swell’d,

When prosp’rous Guilt in Triumph I beheld.

When I observ’d, from where it first begun,

On to the last their Thread so smoothly run:

2 While I1r 193

While inexhausted Strength renews their Prime,

Firm and unconscious of the Waste of Time.

Exempt from adverse Chance, they never know

That common Fate which Mortals undergo:

That universal Lot of human Woe.

Yet favour’d thus, with Insolence they deck

As with an honorary Chain their Neck:

For this are they, as with a Mantle spread

To wrap them round, with Violence array’d.

Inclos’d with swelling Fat, their Eye-balls start:

Their wealth exceeds the Wishes of the Heart.

To all around does their Contagion reach;

They menace Outrage, arrogant of Speech:

Their Mouth opposes Heav’n; their Censures go

Thro’ all the habitable World below.

For this the Vulgar courts them; whence they drain,

As from a plenteous Bowl, no slender Gain:

And yet, can God discover this they cry;

Is he Omniscient whom they stile Most High?

Behold the Impious! what the World confers

In smooth Success or wealthy Store is theirs.

Then I, alas! have purg’d my Heart in vain:

And purify’d my Hands from guilty Stain.

The live-long Day with Sorrow was I worn;

My anxious Doubts awaken’d with the Morn:

Almost my Sentence did with theirs agree;

Then to thy Children I injust shou’d be.

I labour’d long this Science to attain;

But found my Force unequal to the Pain:

Till I perplex’d the Sanctuary sought,

Where I at length their final Doom was taught.

I How I1v 194

How thou hast plac’d them, where, too apt to slide,

They totter on the Pinnacle of Pride:

And then from thence by thee are headlong thrown,

And into Depths of Ruin tumble down.

How in the momentary Glance of Thought,

They to a dreadful Fate at once are brought!

Like Visions, which before the sleeping Eye

Glide smoothly on, but with the Slumbers fly,

So thou, O Lord! the Phantom shalt disdain,

When from Repose thou shalt arise again.

This Conflict long disquieted my Heart;

My very Reins were thrill’d with piercing Smart:

My Sense, when I adventur’d to dispute

The Cause with thee, did not excell the Brute.

Yet by thy Side for ever I remain;

And me thou dost by my right Hand sustain:

To guide me here thy Coundil thou shalt give;

And after that to Glory shalt receive.

Whom but thyself have I in Heav’n above?

Or who on Earth with thee divides my Love?

No! tho’ my wasted Flesh shou’d wear away,

My Heart with languid Pulse forget to play,

Yet God it’s lively Vigour shall restore;

And be my Heritage for evermore.

Behold! they perish all, from thee who rove,

And to thy Rivals yield their perjur’d Love.

’Tis best that I with near Attendance wait,

And trust in God: and then I shall relate

His noble Acts in Sions lofty Gate.

Psalm I2r 195

Psalm LXXIV.

Why, Lord! so long from us dost thou
retire?

Against thy Pasture Sheep why glows thy Ire?

On thy Assembly turn thy Thought once more;

Thy antient Right, by Purchase thine of yore:

Thy Glebe redeem’d, and subject to thy Rod;

This Hill of Sion, once thy lov’d abode.

O! hither turn thy Steps! O hither haste,

Or to repair, or to revenge the Waste:

Where impious Foes reduce thy holy Fane

To Ruins, which for ever must remain.

Within thy Courts they raise an horrid Cry:

And fix their Standards in the Air to fly.

To lift the polish’d Ax, in former Days,

On stately Cedars, was the Workman’s Praise:

But now at once descending Axes found,

The weighty Hammer’s blunter Strokes rebound,

Till all the Artifice that did adorn

The gilded Fretwork from the Walls is torn.

Nor so content, their sacrilegious Hands

Within thy Shrine have toss’d the flaming Brands;

The Mansion where abode thy Name before

Have they profan’d, and levell’d with it’s Floor.

Their Hearts inspir’d; let all to Ruin turn:

The Synagogues thro’ all the Land they burn.

I2 No I2v 196

No wonted Omens now our Prospect chear:

Nor rises now the visionary Seer;

Nor one the dark Events of future Time to clear.

O God! how long shall thus thy Foe defame?

Must he for ever thus revile thy Name?

Why does thy Hand, as if contracted rest?

Thy better Hand? O! draw it from thy Breast.

For God my Sov’reign is from Nature’s Birth:

The Author of Salvation thro’ the Earth.

By potent Might thou didst the Sea divide;

And crush the Heads of Dragons in the Tide:

Thy Stroke the vast Leviathan confounds,

And cleaves his many Heads with mortal Wounds;

The People who along the Desert stray

Upon the Coast, shall feast upon the Prey.

Express’d by thee, from rocky Fissures glide

The Spring and Streams; while rapid Floods are
dry’d.

Thine is the Day, with golden Lustre bright;

And thine the spangled Purple of the Night:

The Dawn which opens with a rosy Gleam;

And the full Glories of the solar Beam.

Thou didst the Globe with various Zones inclose:

And mad’st the Summer’s Heat, and Winter’s
Snows.

Remember, Lord! how thus thy Foes exclaim:

How stupid Idiots dare revile thy Name.

O! do not thou to cruel Hands resign

This harmless tim’rous Turtle which is thine:

Nor to profound Oblivion doom the Poor.

Recall to mflawed-reproduction2 words Covenant once more:

For I3r 197

For in the Caves of Earth, remote from Day,

Relentless Murther watches for her Prey.

Arise, O Lord! to vindicate thy Cause;

Still must the Libertine blaspheme thy Laws?

Neglect not then their Clamour bold and loud;

Nor the rude Tumult of the gath’ring Crowd.

Psalm LXXVIII.

Your Ear, my People! to my Dictates bend;

And to my Words your whole Attention lend:

My Lips I will in Parables unfold,

Involv’d in mystic Sentences of old.

What mighty Deeds have we receiv’d from Fame!

And certain Knowledge has confirm’d the same;

Each to his Son, as by his Father taught

Shall tell the Wonders which the Lord has wrought:

To future Age shall send his Praises down,

And Miracles perform’d by him alone.

His Covenant confirm’d with Jacob stands;

To Israel thus he fix’d his high Commands:

This, with enjoin’d Obedience to our Sires,

To teach their future Children he requires;

That unborn Race, who wait the natal Day,

Shall this to a successive Race convey,

To trust in God, remember, and obey.

And not with impious Imitation trace

Their Ancestors, a false obdurate Race,

Refusing to direct their Hearts aright;

Nor wou’d they to the Lord their Souls unite.

I3 So I3v 198

So Ephraim’s Sons, tho’ arm’d they bore the Bow,

Yet turn’d their Backs, when they beheld the Foe:

From God’s disclaim’d Alliance they withdraw;

Rejecting all Obedience to his Law;

His Benefits forgot, and Acts that prove,

Ev’n to their conscious Eyes, his boundless Love;

The Prodigies their Fathers once beheld

In Egypt’s Land, in Zoan’s wond’ring Field.

He parts the Sea, and leads them thro’ the Tide;

And heaps the Billows high on either Side:

A pillar’d Cloud conducts them all the Day;

By Night the Blaze of Fire directs their Way.

He burst the Rocks, in Wilds which never knew

The bubbling Fountain, or refreshing Dew;

To quench their Thirst he bad the Moisture flow,

Plenteous from the vast Abyss below:

Forth from the Rift the living Streams distill;

As swelling Floods their spacious Channel fill.

Yet still their Crime proceeds; they still conspire

To tempt the Highest to vindictive Ire,

Amid the Solitude: For so suggests

The Diffidence of their ingrateful Breasts.

The Deity they challenge, to supply

The Banquet for their wanton Luxury.

In open Accents now the Murmurs broke,

And thus of God in bold Defiance spoke.

Can he amid the thirsty Wild prepare

The Table charg’d with hospitable Fare?

He smote the Rock indeed, the Waters flow

From gaping Clefts, obedient to the Blow,

And all around in limpid Currents spread:

But can he add the Nourishment of Bread?

Or I4r 199

Or with the Food of solid Flesh maintain

The Numbers of his faint exhausted Train?

The Almighty heard, nor long delay’d his Ire;

In Jacob soon burst forth the kindled Fire;

At Israel’s Race his Indignation rose;

Who scorn’d on him their Credence to repose,

Distrustful of the Aid which he bestows.

Tho’ he to gath’ring Clouds command had giv’n,

And open’d wide the azure Gate of Heav’n,

To pour the Food, whose memorable Name,

Unheard before, from their Inquiry came.

Ethereal Heav’n produc’d the pearly Grain,

Such Dainties as angelic Boards sustain

Were then indulg’d to Man; till Hunger ceas’d

Repress’d with Plenty of the copious Feast.

He sent the rapid East beneath the Skies:

The softer South by his Commission flies:

Thick as the Dust descends the living Rain,

Of feather’d Fowls; or Sands beside the Main.

These thro’ the Limit of their Camp he strow’d,

Around, and in the Midst of their Abode.

They eat, their craving Appetite they fill,

For he indulg’d them to their utmost Will;

Nor was their Wish debarr’d: But while they press’d

With eager Teeth the yet unfinish’d Feast,

The Wrath of God surpriz’d them all, and slew

The wealthy Chiefs of that intemp’rate Crew:

And all the Choice of Israel’s Sons o’erthrew.

Yet they persist to Sin; nor to believe

His signal Prodigies Attention give:

For this their Days in Vanity he wears;

And unavailing Labour wastes their Years.

I4 Destroy’d I4v 200

Destroy’d by him, to seek him they return;

Their early Diligence prevents the Morn:

Then God their Strength they call to Mind once
more;

That the most High their Freedom did restore.

While they on him with fawning Accents hung,

False were their Lips, and faithless was their
Tongue:

Nor was their Heart to him approv’d sincere!

Nor did they to his Covenant adhere.

But him serene Benevolence inspires;

Their Guilt he pardons, nor their Fate requires:

How oft from them his Indignation turn’d,

And his diminsh’d Ire with slacker Fury burn’d!

The frail Condition of our earthly Kind

To him appears but as the passing Wind

That comes no more, nor leaves its Track behind.

Him in the Wild how oft did they incense,

And grieve his heav’nly Mind with their Offence?

Retreating back they tempt the Pow’r divine;

And Israel’s Holy One they dar’d confine.

Forgetful of his Hand; and of the Day

When from their Foes he led them safe away:

When Ægypt once his Prodigies beheld;

The Wonders he perform’d in Zoan’s Field.

He bad the River roll a purple Store:

They pine for Thrift, and loath the tasted Gore.

At his Command the putrid Air supplies

The clust’ring Legions of envenom’d Flies,

With Stings infix’d to riot in their Blood:

With these, the noisy Frogs, aquatic Brood,

Annoy’d I5r 201

Annoy’d their fainting Sense. In vain appear

The globous Buds in Promise of the Year:

Upon the ravag’d Sweets the Canker feeds;

The Locust to the lab’ring Hind succeeds.

In vain the curling Vines are hung around

With swelling Gems; for with a rattling Sound

The marble Tempest bears them to the Ground.

Pinch’d by untimely Winter scatter’d lye

The juicy Berries of a sanguin Dye:

The weighty Hail upon their Herds he threw;

To blast their Flocks the ruddy Lightning flew,

And hissing Bolts with flaming Sulphur blue.

He pours upon them his Revenge severe;

Fury, and Consternation, and Despair:

And to malignant Angels gives Command

To bear his Terrors thro’ the guilty Land.

He gave his Anger way; nor deign’d to save

Their sinking Spirit from the gaping Grave:

Their Cattle first the dire Destruction find,

By him to wasteful Pestilence resign’d.

And now a deeper Wound the Ægyptians mourn,

In mingl’d Fun’rals of their eldest born:

The Choice of Youth, and who in Strength excell’d,

Wherever Ham’s detested Offspring dwell’d.

But, as the Shepherd to the flow’ry Meads

Conducts his Flock, his People forth he leads:

Secure and fearless they, their March he guides;

But whelms their Foes beneath the rushing Tides:

On to the Limits of his sacred Land,

This Mountain purchas’d by his own right Hand:

From thence the Natives he before them drives:

And by the Line to them Possession gives.

I5 Pro- I5v 202

Proportion’d; thus the Tribes of Israel dwell’d

In their Abodes whom he from thence expell’d.

Yet to the Trial the Supreme they dare;

Nor think his Institutes deserve their Care.

Now, turn’d to Flight, they measure back their
Pace,

And prove the faithless Authors of their Race:

So bursts the Bow, and to the Archer’s Scope

Deceitful, frustrates his eluded Hope.

Forbidden Altars on the Hills on high,

And sculptur’d Gods provoke his Jealousy.

This when the Lord had heard, his Anger grew

To sternest Hate of Israel’s impious Crew:

The Tent of Shiloh he abandon’d then;

The lov’d Pavilion he had fix’d with Men.

Their Strength he then resign’d to servile Bands:

His The Ark. Glory to the bold Invader’s Hands.

The People, once his own, he doom’d to feel

Th’ insatiate Fury of the deathful Steel;

When on his own Domain burst forth his Ire:

Their blooming Youth in cruel Flames expire;

In bridal Song no more the Virgin hears

Her Praises chaunted by her late Compeers.

Fall’n by the Sword the holy Priests lye slain:

The Widows fix’d in silent Woe remain.

Then, as from quiet Sleep, arose the Lord:

As when some Hero finds his Strength restor’d

By Spirits when the gen’rous Grape supplies,

In ecchoing Shouts his lofty Voice he tries.

Deep I6r 203

Deep in their Back his Enemies he wounds:

And with eternal Infamy confounds.

He Joseph’s Tents refus’d; nor him preferr’d,

On whom the Patriarch’s Blessing wilful err’d:

But Juda’s favour’d Tribe, his Choice approv’d;

And Sion’s holy Mountain, his belov’d.

His Temple there he rais’d, to emulate

The lofty Structures of imperial State:

And laid the firm Foundation deep below;

Strong as the Earth, no Change to undergo.

His Choice on David fix’d, he took the Swain

From Flocks, and Folds, and from the rural Plain:

From following Mothers of the fleecy Breed,

The People of his Heritage to feed.

His faithful Heart, sincerely he apply’d,

For them the plenteous Pasture to provide:

And with experienc’d Skill their Ways to guide.

Psalm LXXIX.

Behold! O God! behold the cruel Train

Of stern Barbarians ravage thy Domain:

Behold thy Shrine profan’d, and when on high

The Tow’rs of Salem glitter’d on the Sky,

A mighty Waste, and Pile of Ruins lye.

Thy Servants lifeless Carcasses are giv’n

To ev’ry greedy Vulture of the Heav’n:

Thy holy Saints without Interment lay,

And ev’ry Beast of Earth devour’d the Prey.

I6 As I6v 204

As falling Rains increase the swelling Flood,

So Sion floated with her Children’s Blood:

Nor dar’d a pitying Friend upon the Bier

Compose the Dead, or fun’ral Rites confer.

Stung with Reproaches of our Foes we mourn:

To bord’ring Realms a Mark of public Scorn.

Shall Length of Time, O Lord! thy Ire assuage?

Or shall for ever glow thy jealous Rage

Like wasteful Flames, and unextinguish’d burn?

Thy kindled Wrath on other Objects turn:

On Nations ignorant of thee to fall;

And Realms which never on thy Name did call.

For to their cruel Rage is Jacob made

A Prey; and his Abode in Ruins lay’d.

But O! remember not, from former Times

Our past Offences; but forgive our Crimes:

With soft Compassion, e’re it is too late,

Behold, and raise us from our fall’n Estate.

O God of our Salvation! yet once more,

For thy Renown, our Liberty restore:

And cleanse our Guilt, as we thy Name implore.

With impious Taunt why should the Heathen cry

Where? where is now their boasted Deity?

May he, so known, conspicuous in their Sight,

Upon themselves his Servants Blood requite.

O! let the mournful Sighs before thee come

Of Captives, destin’d to receive their Doom:

And prove, by Pow’r in their Deliv’rance shown,

That Life and Death are in thy Hand alone.

But to our Neighbours, seven times multiply’d

Into their Bosom recompense their Pride:

Who thee with impious Scoff have dar’d deride.

So I7r 205

So we thy People, of thy Pasture we

The chosen Sheep, shall render Thanks to thee;

Nor ever cease: To thee we mean to pay

The pious Hymn, while Ages roll away.

Psalm LXXXVIII.

O God of my Salvation! all the Day

To thee, and all the Night to thee I pray:

Admit my Cries before thee to appear;

And to my Supplication bend thine Ear.

With Woe my Soul is fraught; my fainting Breath

Approaches nearly to the Gates of Death:

I seem like one who to the nether Shade

Descends; in Vigour and in Force decay’d.

Where all, whom Death restores to Liberty,

Slain in the Grave, and unremember’d lye:

These from the Living, by a fatal Blow,

Thy Hand divides. And thou hast cast me low;

In deepest Caverns underneath the Ground,

Obscure with Night, and in the vast Profound.

Thy dread Displeasure presses on my Soul;

And o’er my Head the raging Tempests roll.

My dearest Friends, or who were such of late,

Hast thou remov’d, or turn’d their Love to Hate:

Confin’d in Dungeons, and oppress’d with Chains,

No Hope of Liberty to me remains.

With pining Grief my wasted Eyes decay:

To thee I spread my Hands, to thee I pray;

As each revolving Sun renews the Day.

For I7v 206

For wilt thou thy stupendous Wonders show

To the pale Nations of the Dead below?

What Pow’r of Art, or Miracle shall raise

Their vanish’d Being to recite thy Praise?

Who in the Tomb shall tell thy Mercy’s Fame?

Or thy Veracity in Death proclaim?

Or shall eternal Night thy Marvels boast?

Or show thy Justice on the dismal Coast

Where Thought itself is in Oblivion lost?

But thee have I implor’d; with early Cries,

My Pray’r attends thee, e’re the Morn arise:

O! wherefore dost thou thus my Soul repell?

And o’er thy Presence cast a cloudy Veil?

Thus have I languish’d from my tender Years,

And instant Death before my Eyes appears,

Press’d with thy Wrath, and frantic with my
Fears

Thy Indignation, and the conscious Dread

Of heav’nly Vengeance, overwhelms my Head;

Like rolling Billows, and the rushing Tide,

They break above, and pour on ev’ry Side:

In vain on Kinsman; or on Friend I call;

For universal Darkness hides them all.

Psalm XC.

Thou, Lord! hast been our sure Repose,

Our sacred Refuge from our Foes;

Since aged Time his Course began,

And thro’ successive Periods ran.

Before I8r 207

Before the Mountain’s early Birth,

Before the Structure of the Earth,

Before the universal Ball

Emerg’d from nothing at thy Call,

Thou, prsent Godhead! dost survey

An unbegun, an endless Day.

Mankind by thee resign’d to Doom,

Thy Voice recalls them from the Tomb:

The Series of a thousand Years,

To thee that narrow Space appears,

Which bounded last diurnal Light:

Or as an Hour of Watch by Night:

As rapid Floods, which roll away

To lose their Water in the Sea;

As Visions of the slumbr’ing Eye,

Which vanish when the Slumbers fly:

Or as the Grass they shall consume;

The Morning sees the Verdure bloom,

Which, e’er the Stars of Eav’n arise,

Falls by the Scythe, and fades and dries.

Such is our frail uncertain Age;

Sad Victims of celestial Rage!

Thy Indignation wastes our Years

In dire Anxieties and Fears.

Our Crimes to thy Tribunal brought

The secret Act, and conscious Thought,

Are open all to thy Survey,

Where thy bright Presence gilds the Day.

Our Days in thy Displeasure fail:

Our Years are ended like a Tale.

Sev’n Decads does the annual Sun

To limit our Duration run:

Perhaps I8v 208

Perhaps with firmer Strength we gain

One Decad more of Toil and Pain;